


The Longest Night of Rain

by TurnIt0ff



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Assault, Coma, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury, M/M, Medical, New York City, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Canon, mcpriceley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24154012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnIt0ff/pseuds/TurnIt0ff
Summary: "It’s okay," someone told him. "You’re safe now."He didn’t feel safe, but that wasn’t the point. That didn’t matter. All he cared about was the last image of his boyfriend burned into his memory, laid out on the concrete just inches out of his reach. Pale and unmoving. Surrounded by blood."Kevin and Connor are lucky to be alive after a brutal attack interrupts their happy life in New York City. But waking up will bring its own set of challenges that neither of them are prepared for.
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 151
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just get hit with a train of inspiration and have to start a new multi-chap WIP.

A rush of cool air swept over him as he was pulled from the ambulance. There were noises, too; a crowd of faces appearing over him, staring down at him, and then hands. Panic was the first feeling he registered. Restraint. A hand seized his wrist when he reached up to remove whatever obstruction was covering his mouth and nose, and he tried to jerk away. He needed to _speak_ and he couldn’t and they didn’t _understand._ He tried again and the fingers on his wrist readjusted so that they were clutching his hand instead. 

“It’s okay,” someone told him, “You’re safe now.”

He didn’t feel safe, but that wasn’t the point. That didn’t matter. All he cared about was the last image of his boyfriend burned into his memory, laid out on the concrete just inches out of his reach. Pale and unmoving. Surrounded by blood. 

The ceiling lights above him swished by too quickly. When he closed his eyes it felt like a strobe light, making his head pound even harder. There were words spoken overhead but he could only catch fragments as they ebbed and flowed out of focus, like someone tuning a radio signal in his brain. 

_...attacked… alley… two of them…_

“Where is he?” he tried to ask, but he wasn’t sure if they could hear him, his words vibrating against his skin as they caught in the trap over his mouth. Frustrated, he wriggled his hand out of the stranger’s grasp and yanked the mask down under his chin, sucking in a deep breath. He winced at the stab of pain in his ribs. 

“Where’s - _ahh_ \- my boyfriend?” He flinched as another bolt of pain struck through him. “Y-you have to help him. Please.”

The man who had held his hand before looked at someone else standing over him and whispered something about a name. He tried to follow his gaze but even the small movement of his head sent his vision spiraling. _Kevin,_ he heard another voice say, and then the man was leaning down close to him again, pulling the mask back into place over his nose.

“Kevin,” he said gently, “We are going to take care of you both, okay? We are doing everything we can.”

“I want to see him,” Kevin demanded, though he was sure it probably came out more as slurred gibberish as everything began to swim around him, “Please, I have to make sure he’s okay.”

All the noises were bleeding together, drifting further away, and he struggled to hold on until he had an answer. He felt a pinch in his arm, heard some muffled words exchanged above him, and he was pretty he could guess what that was because the world was going black faster than he could control.

“Please,” he tried again. 

He was rolled to a stop and he blinked hard to concentrate on what was happening as the world continued to slip away. There were more voices, different, _louder_ voices trailing up behind them. Footsteps, too. Lots of them. Fast. And the roll of wheels. Another gurney. 

“Clear the way!” He heard a woman shout. 

As the second gurney rushed past them, Kevin turned his head at just the right moment, catching a brief glimpse of blood-matted, fire-red hair through the wall of doctors surrounding him. 

“Connor!”

He braced his elbows against the gurney and tried to push himself up. The movement sent a jolt of agony through his ribs and his stomach, but he didn’t care. He kept pushing, a pained growl ripping from his throat. 

“Connor,” he tried to yell again, weaker this time as strong hands found his shoulders, his arms, and forced him down. He pulled against them for everything he was worth, which, at the moment, wasn’t much. His struggles were easily quelled, presumably aided by whatever chemicals were making their way through his bloodstream. And fast. His vision was tunneling, the darkness at the edges closing in and the hand was back in his, a voice telling him everything was going to be okay. He wished he could believe them. 

In his last few moments of consciousness, Kevin found himself pleading with God for the first time in years.

* * *

A steady beeping pulled him to lucidity, starting far off like a dream and drawing closer as his senses trickled over him slowly. The scratch of cheap cotton under his palms. The sterile smells. Rubbing alcohol. Flowers? The soft chatter of familiar voices. One voice in particular, shrill even in its attempted whisper. It was enough to pull Kevin’s mind to the surface. He opened his eyes. 

“Hey!” The voice came again, accompanied by a clutch around his fingers. “He’s awake!”

Kevin shrank back as two more presences appeared at his bedside, another on each side. His head hurt, making his vision dance but he blinked a few times, trying to focus on their faces. Arnold. Naba. James. Something was missing. 

“Hey, there.” Church’s voice sounded so far away. Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pulsating quickly in his chest. The beeping beside him increased in its speed and something in him jolted awake, a brief but overwhelming rush of panic. His trembling arms struggled to prop him up against the bed, and instantly, there were hands on his shoulders, pressing him back gently.

“Woah, hey. Easy, bud.” It was Arnold. Arnold was speaking. Then James.

“Don’t try to get up, Kev.”

“Connor,” he choked out around the thickness in his throat, “Where’s… Where’s Connor?”

When he opened his eyes, James and Arnold were exchanging a look that made Kevin’s chest tighten even more. A pit of dread formed in his stomach. 

“Please,” he whispered, an instant chill flooding his entire body. His palms went numb, the IV in his skin tugging slightly as he brought a hand to his chest, chutching at the thin gown. He couldn’t breathe. It was Naba who reached out to hold his hand, and he jolted, his wide eyes shifting over to find hers.

“Kevin,” she spoke softly, holding his gaze, “He’s alive, alright? Connor’s alive.”

He barely had time to expel the breath he was holding before she spoke again, her voice careful and hesitant. 

“But,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze, “He is not well.”

Kevin blinked, trying to swallow back what was sure to be the threat of bile in his throat. He pushed himself up against his pillows, searching over his friends’ faces for answers.

“What do you mean?”

James closed his eyes. “He was hurt really bad,” he told him, “He lost a lot of blood, and. And he hit his head really hard. He hasn’t woken up.”

“But he will,” Kevin shot back immediately. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t let it be. Connor _would_ wake up. 

“The doctors are doing everything they can.” Arnold smoothed his hand over his shoulder and Kevin winced as he hit a sore spot. 

“What do you remember?” James asked. 

Kevin narrowed his eyes, jumbled jigsaw pieces of memory dancing just out of his reach.

“We were celebrating,” he decided, a brief moment of clarity clicking into place. He let himself sink into the pillow, closing his eyes in concentration. “Connor had just gotten a callback. We went out for a drink.”

“They found you guys outside of Stanley’s,” Arnold supplied. Kevin opened his eyes. 

“Our favorite bar.” Something shifted into place at his words. The memories that followed weren’t full pictures. Rather, fleeting sensations. The sound of Connor’s laughter. The smell of vodka on his breath. His lips against his neck. His hand on his thigh. 

Then the tone darkened.

Cold air on his skin. Someone crying. _Connor._ Footsteps against pavement. Sirens. 

“They were hurting him,” he whispered.

“It’s okay, pal,” Arnold said, but it wasn’t. He didn’t understand. 

“He… he stepped outside to get some air.” Kevin kept his eyes straight ahead, unfocused as he tried to pull the pieces into order, “I should have gone with him, but I stayed inside to pay the tab.”

“Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault,” James assured him.

“When I went out to find him, he wasn’t there. I heard… I heard him yelling, or… or like, crying out. I went around the corner and I saw them.” He stopped, choking back a sob. “He was on the ground. They were kicking him. He was bleeding so bad already. From his face. His head. I tried to stop them.”

“It sounds like you did stop them,” Naba said.

“Not soon enough,” he shook his head, “By the time I hit the ground, he was already unconscious. And now, he’s… he’s...”

“He’s going to be okay,” James said, “Chris is sitting with him now, so he’s not alone.” 

“Yeah,” Arnold said, “And we know how stubborn Connor is. He won’t give up.”

“I want to see him.”

Arnold was quick to press him down again as Kevin lurched forward, James jumping to his other side to do the same.

“Kev, you’re still really injured,” James said, rubbing a soothing hand over his arm, but Kevin wasn’t having it. He shrugged out of their grip, struggling to swing his legs over the side of the bed. 

“I don’t care,” he winced, bringing a hand to his side, “I need to see him.”

Arnold and James exchanged a look over him, eventually deciding it was no use trying to stop him when he was this determined. 

“Okay,” James conceded, moving around to the other side of the bed to help Arnold get him to his feet, “Just go slow, alright?”

“Lean on us,” Arnold instructed as Kevin’s feet hit the cold tile. 

He scooted to the edge of the bed, slowly shifting his weight onto wobbling legs. He did as he was told, draping the arm that wasn’t clutching his ribs over Arnold’s shoulders. James spotted him from the other side, offering a supportive hand on his back. 

“You shouldn’t be walking,” Naba interjected, “I’m getting you a wheelchair.”

“No, I’m fine.” Kevin shook his head, faltering as he tried to take a step forward. Naba raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t a suggestion.”

* * *

His breath halted the moment he saw him. _Everything_ halted. 

Ignoring the protests from the chorus of friends behind him, Kevin gripped the arms of the wheelchair as they stopped in the doorway, pushing himself to his feet. Chris, who had been sitting at Connor’s bedside when he arrived, rose and offered a steadying hand. Kevin swayed slightly, gripping his IV pole for support before making his way past him, padding slowly across the room. With every step, his eyes never left the sweet, broken boy in the hospital bed. 

He gripped the railing as soon as he reached his bedside, knuckles white and trembling as he scanned over his boyfriend’s form. The prick of oncoming tears tickled behind his nose. Connor’s face was barely recognizable underneath the thick patches of gauze and the ugly swirls of purple that peeked from behind them. The freckled skin of his arms lie bare above the covers, littered with scratches and cuts. Kevin reached for his hand, gently turning it in his. His stomach churned at the angry, red streaks that had begun to scab over on his palm. When he closed his eyes, his mind supplied a million horrific images.

_Connor hitting the ground. Connor catching himself on his hands. Connor being kicked back down._

“I’m sorry.” Beads of moisture collected at the tip of his nose before he could stop them, dripping onto the white blanket. He brought his hand to Connor’s face, letting his fingertips graze softly over his forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

A nurse appeared at the opposite side of the bed. Kevin spared her a brief glance as she began tending to one of the bandages on his arm. 

“Boyfriend?” She asked. Kevin nodded, wiping his tears with the back of his finger. “You picked yourself a tough one.”

Her words only made Kevin’s eyes blur over again. He brushed a tendril of hair from Connor’s forehead. 

“Is he going to be okay?” He didn’t look up as he asked the question, part of him finding it impossible to tear his gaze away from Connor, part of him scared of the answer he might find in the woman’s eyes. The nurse hesitated for a moment, her hands keeping busy at Connor’s arm. 

“He took quite a bit of abuse out there,” she said, “I won’t sugarcoat it. With a head injury like the one he sustained, there’s no certainty about the state he could be in if and when he wakes up.”

Kevin’s head jerked up. 

“If?” The word was pinched tightly in his throat, the room starting to spin around him. 

“The doctors are hopeful at this point,” she was quick to assure him, though her words brought very little comfort, “We have no reason to believe he _won’t_ wake up. In circumstances like these… it’s really difficult to discern either way.”

Kevin held his weight against the bedside railing. It felt like his legs would give out beneath him at any moment. 

“What do we do?” The desperation in his own voice terrified him. “I mean how - how do we…?”

“We wait.” The smile she offered was a sad one. Sympathetic in a way she must have practiced hundreds of times. Kevin nodded as she finished with his bandage and peeled off her latex gloves. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it seemed to be the only one he would get. He could feel the hovering presence of his friends in the doorway, but in that moment, there was no one else in the world except the boy in front of him. He reached down to place his hand over Connor’s, softer, more careful with his touch than he had ever been. The gentle pulsation he felt beneath his fingertips was the only sensation keeping him anchored to the ground. 

“Okay,” he whispered so quietly he wasn't sure he'd spoken at all - to the nurse, to himself, to Connor. “We wait.”


	2. Chapter 2

He was grateful for the Starbucks on the first floor of the hospital, though his bank account probably had other opinions on the matter. He stopped in every morning on his way to see Connor and ordered the same thing every time: one Venti black coffee and a Tall cinnamon latte. His face flushed red the first time Danielle, the nurse he had come to know quite well since his own release, asked about the second drink. 

“It’s his favorite,” Kevin had shrugged, setting the hot cup on the table beside Connor’s bed. “I know he can’t drink it, but I thought maybe the smell… I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s sweet,” she had argued, and that was all the encouragement Kevin needed to continue. 

Kevin was healing, he supposed, though he did not pay his own recovery much mind. The sharp spikes of pain in his ribs when he took too deep of a breath or the near-constant ache in his abdomen were like a shrill hum that blended effortlessly into the background if he ignored them for long enough. An annoyance, sure, especially when he rolled over the wrong way in bed or someone jostled him on the train on the way to the hospital, or when he sat too long in the same position in the stiffly upholstered chair beside Connor’s bed. Some aspects were harder to ignore, like the way the physical assault had brought back some unwelcome memories that his brain couldn’t always distinguish, and how the nightmares were so much worse when Connor wasn’t there beside him when he woke up gasping for air. 

Still, Kevin’s mind was pretty singularly focused these days. He couldn’t afford to think about himself. 

The police had taken his statement the day after the assault, and Kevin told them what he knew with resigned defeat, because it wasn’t much. He hadn’t seen their faces, couldn’t remember any distinguishing marks on the men who hurt them. The detectives were kind. They told him they would do everything they could to bring them justice, but Kevin could see it in their eyes it wasn’t likely, and he resented himself for proving absolutely useless to Connor once again. 

Some days he entered to find Chris and James, or sometimes just Chris, at Connor’s bedside. On these days, they would stay and chat for a while before leaving him to privacy, always with questions about how Kevin was holding up, how he was healing, if he needed anything. Kevin would lie through a comfortable smile and tell them he was fine. It was nice to have their company. To be in the presence of other people who were rooting for Connor. A few times, Arnold and Naba would come with him to visit, and the time Naba tried putting braids into the unbandaged section of Connor’s hair was the closest Kevin had come to genuine laughter in days.

Most days, though, he was alone. 

Danielle worked Monday through Thursday on twelve hour rotations, so Kevin saw a lot of her. She popped in more often than he suspected necessary, and Kevin began to think she was checking up on him as much as she was Connor. She sometimes brought him small bags of chips or a candy bar from the nurse’s lounge, always accompanied by a light scolding about how he wasn’t eating enough. How he wouldn’t be of any use to Connor later if he didn’t take care of himself now. She noted the way he winced if he moved too quickly or bent over too far when he applied chapstick to Connor’s lips. He told her he was fine until eventually it became mostly the truth. 

On Thursdays, she started packing an extra PB&J in her lunch and would sit with Kevin on her lunch break while they chatted about her new puppy and her kids and the weather. On the rare days when Kevin felt like talking at all, he would tell her stories about Connor. About meeting him for the first time and feeling his world shift. About the mission and their first kiss and falling in love under the hot, Uganda sun. He hoped on some level Connor could hear them talking. That he would know he wasn’t all alone. 

A few times, when Danielle was working nights, Kevin snuck a night or two on the couch in Connor’s room. It was cramped and narrow and the vinyl upholstery made his skin stick with sweat, but Kevin didn’t mind. Not when his alternative was sleeping alone in the bed they had built together. He avoided their apartment as much as he could afford to. The bathroom would fill with the scent of Connor’s favorite coconut body wash when he took a shower, and the first time Kevin made the connection, he found himself clutching the wet tile for support as sobs wracked his body and the water ran cold. 

He saw him every day and yet he missed him so much. 

Kevin stopped by the bookstore down the street from their apartment one day on his way to the hospital and picked up a copy of _The Inheritance._ Connor had been waiting for weeks to find cheap tickets to see it on Broadway, and now it was closing in a few weeks and well… he didn’t want to think about what that meant too specifically, but he bought the book and started reading it out loud at Connor’s bedside. The corner of his mouth turned up as he could practically hear Connor’s criticisms of his lackluster performance ringing in his head, so he leaned into his reading, changing his voice subtly between characters. He had to admit it made for better storytelling. What he hadn’t expected were the tears that streamed silently down his face as the story progressed. In hindsight, perhaps a story about love and loss and death had not been the best choice of literature. 

Danielle levelled with him, which he both appreciated and resented. She tried her best to keep his expectations regarding Connor’s health in check, though he put up a valiant fight. If there was one skill Kevin Price had mastered in his lifetime, it was the art of reckless determination. And it was much easier to hold Connor’s hand and whisper plans about an unseen future than it was to process warnings like _“the longer he stays under, the less likely he is to wake up.”_ Kevin didn’t talk to Danielle for the rest of the day after that one.

* * *

“The doctors say I should contact his family,” Kevin blurted to Chris one day, his eyes never leaving Connor’s face. The skin on his face felt like it was sagging off of him, heavy with exhaustion and muscles weak from crying. He hadn’t looked in a mirror lately, and he could only imagine the state of his appearance. 

Chris lowered his magazine to his lap at Kevin’s declaration. 

“Oh.”

“I haven’t,” Kevin continued. “I don’t… I don’t know what Connor would want me to do.”

Judging by the long sigh that slid out of the shorter man as he closed the magazine completely, he didn’t either. 

“If they’re telling you that, do you think that means…”

“Nothing,” Kevin bit quickly, “It means nothing. They don’t know anything for sure.”

Kevin couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for snapping, even if he knew Chris didn’t mean any harm. Instead, he closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, slumping down in his chair. 

“I don’t even know how to get ahold of them, anyway,” he admitted, “They must have changed their number when we moved away.”

He winced at the memory of their first Mothers Day in New York - the first Mothers Day since Connor’s parents had kicked him out - remembering how he had stayed up all night holding Connor while he cried when they realized the only phone number he had for her had been disconnected. Rage bubbled inside him at the memory, even more potent when supplied with the image of Connor frail and unconscious in a nest of tubes and wires and bandages. 

“They don’t deserve to see him,” he whispered. Chris’s face softened. 

“He’s their son.”

“Yeah, well they’re not his parents,” Kevin retorted, “Not anymore.”

Chris finally conceded, folding his magazine onto the table as he stood.

“It’s your call,” he said, “I know you want what’s best for Connor. We all do.”

Kevin slumped back in his chair again. He looked up when Chris clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“If you change your mind, I think his friend Steve might still live in the area. Maybe he could track down his parents for you.”

He was still for a few moments after Chris left the room, slinking into the silence that fell over him, broken only by the soft, steady beep of the monitor and the pressurized air of the ventilator. 

He picked up Connor’s phone, which he kept securely in his pocket at all times, pausing for a moment to admire the photo of them on his lockscreen. They looked so happy, existing in a moment that felt like a lifetime ago. Connor looked so full of life as he clung to Kevin’s shoulders, and he could practically still feel the warm laughter against his neck, his boyfriend’s legs wrapped around his waist as he carried him piggyback style. Kevin squeezed his eyes tight against the burn of tears and entered his passcode. He scrolled numbly past the names in his contacts until he found what he was looking for. His thumb hovered over the screen as he stared down at the name, unable to push away the feeling of being pulled apart down the middle. Perhaps it was the impulsiveness that only exhaustion could bring, or the echo of Chris’s good and terrible advice in his head that brought him to press _call._ He sat forward as he pressed the phone to his ear, reclaiming his grip on Connor’s hand and praying for all he was worth that he was doing the right thing. 

His heart jolted when the third ring cut off. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Steve Blade?” Kevin paused to clear his throat. “Yeah, um. This is Kevin Price.”

* * *

Kevin brought Connor’s favorite sweater as the stubborn tail of Summer gave way to Fall. More accurately, it was _Kevin’s_ favorite sweater, and Connor’s favorite article of clothing to steal. Regardless of the details, it was tradition to mark the first day of cold weather by breaking it out of the closet. There weren’t many Fall traditions they could stick to these days, so he was going to make the most of the small things for Connor’s favorite season. He even swapped out the cinnamon latte for a pumpkin spice one, even though it was fifty cents more. Connor was welcome to fight him about financial responsibility to his heart’s content when he woke up.

Plus, he could justify it now with his employee discount. His home store in Hell’s Kitchen had been kind enough to grant him a temporary transfer to the hospital location in lieu of his circumstances. He was immensely grateful. The few weeks of missed paychecks in the peak of his own recovery had hurt his pocket, and this way he could still see Connor before and after work and on his lunch break. It also brought him comfort knowing he was nearby if there were any... changes. 

A couple of days had passed since his phone call with Steve, and the results had been about as disappointing as he expected. He had sent Kevin a text the following day, letting him know he had found his parents. That they had been made aware. Kevin wasn’t sure what to do with that information. Did that mean they had been made aware and were on the next flight out? That they had been made aware and told Steve, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off? Steve was sympathetic to this line of questioning but unfortunately could only report that Mr. McKinley had been quick to shut him out, denying his request for an updated phone number. 

He tried not to think about it. His resentment would do nothing to help Connor now. Instead, he kept his head down and stuck to his routine. Shutting his brain off during his shifts. Getting his coffee. Visiting Connor. Lunch with Danielle. He texted Steve updates when asked for them, which, to his credit, was frequently. He called Arnold when his thoughts started going too dark. He tried his best to carry on. His mom called sometimes, and even sent him money a couple of times, which he appreciated. Life moves on, he was learning, even in the face of tragedy. Bills kept coming, and rent was still due, even though the burden of paying it rested on his shoulders alone now. He tried not to think about that much, either.

* * *

He stopped short in the doorway one Tuesday morning, the usual hot cup in each hand. There was a woman at Connor’s bedside with her back to the door, her copper hair twisted into a low bun at the nape of her neck. Her oversized shawl swallowed her narrow frame, but there was a hand protruding out from it, hovering at the railing of the bed.

“Hello?”

She turned, startled, at Kevin’s voice, looking a bit like a child caught in a cookie jar. His eyes narrowed as they met hers, then widened slightly as recognition trickled over him. He had seen her before. In rare photos mostly, but once in person. In a crowded airport terminal, several years prior. But even without the fleeting memory, the dusting of freckles beneath her bright blue eyes would have been enough to give her away as Connor’s mother. 

“Hello,” she greeted politely, folding her hands in front of her. Kevin felt a bit like he was in a bizarre dream. He couldn’t help but think of what a clusterfuck of a way it was to meet the woman who was supposed to be your future mother-in-law. 

“You’re Connor’s...” He stopped himself, swallowing back the lingering resentment that burned heavy at the sight of her. “Mrs. McKinley. I’m Kevin.”

“Kevin Price,” she nodded curtly, eyes darting away. “Yes. I was surprised to hear the two of you were still… together. After all this time.”

Kevin stepped the rest of the way into the room, letting the door click shut behind him. 

“Not pleasantly so, I imagine.” He was a bit surprised at the amount of bite in his reply. It was incredibly out of character for Kevin Price to be anything but polite to strangers, especially those older than himself, but when he thought about it, perhaps the emotional exhaustion of the past three-and-a-half weeks had worn him down. 

When she didn’t respond, Kevin moved to the opposite side of Connor’s bed, setting the coffee cups down. He pulled up his usual chair to the bedside and took a seat, not before partaking in his usual routine of kissing Connor’s forehead. As he leaned down, he half expected Mrs. McKinley to turn away in disgust or horror, but when he sat down, he saw that she only watched them with a sort of sad concentration. 

“I should go,” she announced suddenly, turning away. Kevin’s heart sank in his chest. He quickly stood. 

“Wait,” he called, stopping her before she reached the door. He closed his eyes. Connor’s mother had come here - flown here, drove here, ran here? - to New York City. She had responded to his outreach. Despite his own feelings on the matter, he owed it to Connor to see this through. 

She turned back to him, her eyes glistening. 

“Don’t go.” Kevin wiped his palms on his jeans. “Look, I… I didn’t mean to come off as rude, I just wasn’t expecting…” He shook his head, unsure of how much he should say without offending her or sending her running again. “Just, stay. Please.”

She hesitated a moment and Kevin almost thought that she would really leave. Much to his surprise, and maybe even his relief, she complied. Kevin slid up a second chair opposite of him and gestured for her to sit. It was awkward and tense as they settled into the silence, all rigid posture and shifting eyes. The one common denominator was the way both their gazes eventually fell to the boy in between them. Mostly to find something to do with his hands, Kevin reached for his coffee and took a sip before his manners took over again. He held up _“Connor’s”_ latte and extended it to her.

“Coffee?” he offered, only catching his mistake when her face contorted into something decidedly uncomfortable. His eyes widened a bit, and he almost laughed. “Right. Sorry. Sometimes I forget.”

He could have sworn she almost smiled, too. 

“What’s in it?” 

He noticed she was staring at the name _Connor_ scrawled onto the side in Sharpie. 

“Oh.” He twisted the cup so that the writing was hidden, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “It’s a Pumpkin Spice Latte. I think they taste like eating a candle, but for some reason he likes them. I figured, you know, maybe familiar scents and stuff could help him feel safer while he’s stuck here.”

When he looked back at Mrs. McKinley, her eyes were trained on her lap, though he could see the way she was struggling to pull her expression together. 

“He used to sneak them home after school sometimes,” she sniffed, pulling a crumpled tissue from her first, “I would find the cups in his room. I never said anything to him about it.” Kevin blinked, unsure of why that information tugged at his heart. “I think they were his favorite.”

“Only in the Fall,” Kevin smiled wistfully, looking at Connor's face. He reached out to hold his hand. “Usually it’s just a regular cinnamon latte. With almond milk.”

“You must think I’m terrible.”

Kevin looked back at her, sensing the sudden edge in her voice. Frankly, he didn’t know how to respond to that. The only accurate answer was an affirmation, and there was really no polite way to go about _that,_ so he waited for her to continue. After a moment of thought, she did.

“Sometimes I think I’m terrible, too.” She paused. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think of him. And miss him.”

“So why did you do it?” Kevin couldn’t help it. Seeing her like this, all sad and broken and falling apart while Connor was the real one suffering was enough to set a fire in Kevin’s nerves. He could feel himself vibrating from the tension. 

“It was a complicated situation.”

“He’s your son. Your _only_ son. It isn’t that complicated.”

“And his father is my husband. I have a duty, as a wife, to respect--”

“What about your duty as a mother?” Despite having heard it all before, Kevin almost couldn’t believe the nonsense rhetoric she was spewing. “Where does that come into play? What about when his father beat him so badly his eye was swollen shut for a week?” 

Kevin didn’t feel remotely bad as she flinched at his words. 

“But I guess you wouldn’t even know that, would you? Because it wasn’t you taking care of him afterward. It was _me.”_

“I didn’t come here to fight.” Her voice was tight and compressed, flattened by years of practiced politeness that Kevin recognized all too well. It was enough to both reignite his frustration and bring him back to earth. As maddening as it was, he couldn’t deny that she was right about one thing: she had come here to see Connor. Connor, who was hurt and in danger and who, no matter how much he had tried to hide it, missed his mother terribly. Kevin was not about to look him in the eye when he woke up and tell the love of his life that he had ruined his one chance at reconciliation with his mom.

“I know,” he finally replied, breathing out any remnants of negativity, “I’m… I’m glad you’re here. I know he would be, too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kevin saw her hand twitch in her lap before she pressed it back down. She seemed to struggle with something for a few moments before she eventually raised it again, placing her hand flat against the white bedsheet beside Connor’s. Not quite making contact.

“Is he happy?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion. 

“Yeah,” Kevin swallowed back a lump of his own, “He is. We are.”

He watched as she moved her pinky, slowly, almost carefully across the sheet, just enough to brush against Connor’s. She made a small noise that Kevin didn’t recognize as they connected.

“He got a callback for an audition.” Kevin blinked away tears, trying to keep his voice steady. “Off-Broadway. He was so excited.”

He reached out for Connor’s other hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb as he remembered their last few lucid moments together in the bar. How happy and excited and _alive_ he had been that his life was finally going the way he had dreamt about for so long. 

“He misses you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure what he had hoped to accomplish by expelling that simple truth, but what he didn’t expect was for her to pull her hand back from the bed and abruptly stand, her chair scraping loudly against the tile. 

“I have to go.”

Kevin stood, too. 

“Oh. Okay, um. Where… where are you staying?” he asked, scrambling to catch her before she hurried out the door, “Did you get a hotel in the city?”

She turned her back to him but made no further effort to leave.

“You’re…” Kevin closed his eyes momentarily, summoning all the strength and decency in his being to make this next offer. “You’re welcome to stay at our place. It’s not much, but… Well, we don’t know how long he is going to be under, and the city can be pretty pricey, so…”

It was something in the way her shoulders curled in at his words. Even without seeing her face, Kevin knew. He suddenly understood, and the ball of dread that sank in his chest threatened to steal the wind from his lungs. 

“You’re not staying.” It was a statement, not a question, and one she did not challenge. 

“Please,” she whispered, not turning to face him, “Tell him I love him.”

“Don’t do this,” Kevin whispered through his disbelief, but she was already walking toward the door. He went after her on instinct, nearly tripping over himself to get to the door. “Please, this could be your last chance to make things right. For him. Don’t throw that away.”

She closed her eyes tightly, small beads of moisture leaving black stains of mascara under them. 

“He needs you here,” he tried desperately, pleading with this stranger that bore a striking resemblance to the man he loved. All to no avail. 

“I’m sorry.”

It was all she could say before she ducked around Kevin’s outstretched arm, through the door and down the hall. Kevin stepped out after her, watching helplessly as she disappeared around the corner. He ran a hand through his hair. 

When he gathered himself enough to turn back into the room, his heart shattered all over again, seeing Connor lying there in the hospital bed. He made his way back to him and pushed his fingers into his hair. The tears he had held back were finally flooding to the surface now that he was alone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, letting his fingers trail softly to his cheekbone. He paused there for a moment, his eyes falling shut. _“Nakupenda.”_

He was nineteen the first time he heard the word, spoken from Mafala’s lips as he laid a carved stone over his wife’s grave. Kevin had asked what it meant later that day, and he had explained that it was a way of saying _“I love you.”_ The second time he heard it was on his twentieth birthday, lying under a starry sky when Connor turned to him in the dark, tall blades of grass tickling over his freckled skin, and changed his life forever.

For the rest of the day, he sat dutifully at Connor’s bedside. He held his hand and ran his fingers over his arm. He read to him and cried over him and talked to him. Everything he had found in his research said that no one knew for sure if coma patients could actually understand what was happening around them while they were under. But if there was even the slightest chance that Connor could have felt the betrayal that took place today, Kevin was going to do everything in his power to make sure he knew he was loved.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who had a nice thing to say about this story so far. I don't know why this idea gripped me so suddenly and so viciously, but here we are and I'm having a good time writing it and planning out its future. I hope you are enjoying it, too.

_Dear Connor,_

_I saw my therapist today for the first time since… everything. I guess we have Arnold to thank for that. He was probably getting tired of listening to me whine (though he swears that isn’t the case). If it hadn’t been for him threatening to drag me there against my will, I probably wouldn’t have gone. I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from your side any longer than necessary. It’s painful enough having to tear myself away long enough to go to work or swing by the apartment for a shower and an unsuccessful night of sleep. But Arnold did have a point. I’m losing it without you, Con._

_She told me to start writing letters. That it might help, since I can’t really talk to you right now. She thought it worked pretty well when I was dealing with everything that happened in Uganda, and with my parents and stuff. It’s not the same, though._

_When I’m writing you a letter, you can’t do that annoying thing you always do where you cut me off mid-sentence because you get excited about something. Or make that face when I’ve said something stupid and you want me to know. Or hold my hand when my voice goes quiet and I start to talk about something sad. I’m afraid that’s going to be most of these letters, unfortunately. The sad part, I mean. Beyond the spikes of anxiety and outright fear surrounding the situation,_ sad _is pretty much all I feel anymore. I miss you so much. Even when you’re right in front of me — I’m three feet from your bedside right now — still, I miss you with a deep, fundamental part of me that I didn’t know existed until I met you._

_I’ve started praying again. Only sometimes; don’t worry, I haven’t sent out for my re-admittance to the church or anything. You know better than anyone how rocky things have been between me and God since Uganda. I almost have to wonder if prayers even count when you’re sending them up with a half-hearted disclaimer of_ “I don’t know if anyone’s listening, BUT.” _But I have to try. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t try if it meant even the slimmest chance of bringing you home._

_Danielle — if it’s true that coma patients can hear people around them, you’ll know who I’m talking about — says that there haven’t been any notable changes in your health, and I’m choosing to take that as a positive. I have to. No news is good news, right? I’m trying to keep my expectations in check, but I can’t bring myself to contemplate a life that moves on without you in it. I don’t want to. I won’t._

_So we’re going to carry on, you and me. You’re going to keep fighting, and I will too, and we will see the other side of this. We have to._

_Nakupenda,_

_\- K_

* * *

“You must be the famous Kevin Price.”

He was just folding his notebook shut when a voice startled him from the doorway. Kevin turned to see an unfamiliar man about his own age standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. The stranger’s eyes shifted momentarily, darkly, to Connor’s still form beside him before he directed them back to Kevin.

“That’s me.” Kevin stood, setting his notebook aside. He narrowed his eyes, trying to place the vaguely familiar stranger. “Sorry, I don’t…”

“Steve.” The man stepped forward, extended his hand and Kevin took it dumbly in his, his eyebrows finally raising in recognition.

“Steve,” Kevin repeated, shaking his hand. “Oh, my god. Steve Blade.”

“That’s me.” 

“Wow, I…” Kevin shook his head, trying to swap his surprise for politeness. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” Steve released his hand, flashing a genuine smile. “Really. I mean, the way Connor talks about you, it’s like meeting a celebrity.”

Kevin ignored the strange combination of pain and affection that stabbed in his chest and fought to keep his expression even.

“Uh, here.” Steve extended the bouquet awkwardly, suddenly looking a bit uncertain of himself. “For Connor. I hope he still likes lilies.”

Kevin allowed himself the briefest moment of indulgence as he pulled the flowers to his chest, dipping his head low enough to breathe in the familiar scent, reminiscent of date nights and birthday surprises that somehow felt a lifetime away. 

“He does,” he whispered. Steve seemed to pick up on the subtle shift in tone, and was almost apologetic when he spoke again.

“I hope it’s okay that I dropped in unannounced,” he said. Kevin pulled himself from his reverie, putting on the best smile he could manage. 

“Yeah, of course,” he waved him off, setting the flowers off to the side with Connor’s dwindling pile of gift shop collectables. “This is certainly, um. A bit of a surprise.”

“Yeah, I…” Steve chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’m sure it is.”

“Did you come all this way to see Connor?”

“No,” Steve answered quickly, then seemed to backtrack. “I mean, not exactly. The timing just... worked out. My cousin lives here in the city. I just finished up undergrad in the Spring semester, and he agreed to let me bum it on his couch for a few weeks while I looked for work.”

“Are you an actor, too?”

“I was a double major: Marketing and Finance.” He laughed as Kevin attempted an interested nod. “Don’t worry, I know it’s not the most exciting prospect in the world. It was more just a matter of choosing something I knew could get me to the city.” 

His gaze wandered over to Connor again, this time taking a moment to fully observe him, as if he were taking in the reality of the situation for the first time. 

“Connor and I dreamed about New York since we were kids.” The corner of his mouth turned up at the memory. “I was so happy when he told me he had finally made it here.”

“It wasn’t an easy road for him.” Kevin pulled both of his feet onto the chair with him, hugging his knees to his chest. 

“Right.” Steve winced, sadness replacing the note of nostalgia in his eyes. “Everything with his parents.”

“Yeah.”

Clearing his throat, Steve turned abruptly toward Kevin. “Hey, look, I probably should have texted you or something to let you know I was coming,” he said, “I know you’ve probably got enough on your plate right now without unexpected visitors. I just… I got to town and I remembered you telling me which hospital he was at…”

Kevin shook his head. “No, of course. You’re fine, I… I’m sure he would really love knowing that you’re here.”

Steve hesitated for a moment, shifting his eyes to Kevin as if to read him.

“Do you…” he started hesitantly. “Do you think it would be alright if I came around to visit sometimes? I promise, I won’t be in your hair all the time, just…”

“Please.” Kevin cut him off with a wave of his hand. “He could use all the support in his corner he can get.”

Steve nodded in agreement, then shifted in his seat, looking a bit uncomfortable but smiling genuinely at Kevin. 

“I don’t want this to come off the wrong way, because you I’m sure you have plenty of people, but… well, I’m sure Connor’s not the only one who could use the support.”

Kevin wasn’t sure any amount of support would do much to take the weight off his shoulders, but still. He couldn’t really argue with him there.

* * *

_Dear Connor,_

_I had a dream about you last night. About_ us. _I heard your voice, and it’s all I can think about._

_We were down by the river; the one we used to run off to in Uganda to steal a moment alone together. The dream felt so real, like I could actually feel the sun spreading warmth over my skin. You weren’t sunburned for once, which I’m sure you would appreciate. It started off playful. Dipping our feet into the water with rolled-up pant legs just to feel some relief from the heat. Then you started splashing me, so I splashed back until one of us got brave, and next thing I knew our pants were discarded in the grass, white shirts strewn over a tree branch and we were waist deep and clinging to each other like our lives depended on it. It was all so visceral, so tangible. Your arms around my back, my legs around your waist, the cool water lapping at our skin as we waded deeper and deeper and… well._

_I woke up feeling guilty, of all things. Like it’s somehow wrong to be thinking about you like _that_ with everything else going on. Don’t get me wrong. It’s hardly high up on my priority list, believe me. But I can’t deny how much I miss touching you. Feeling you touch me. There are a million different ways your love nourished me, ignited me, held me... maybe it shouldn’t be shameful to admit that the physical stuff was part of it, too._

_I’m suddenly really glad you forced me to download Snapchat that one time, because I keep going through our memories and playing the same videos over and over just to hear your voice. There’s this one that I keep watching on a loop. It’s from the night of Chris and James’s wedding. You’re really drunk in it, because of course you are, and you had stolen my phone when I went to the bathroom. The whole video is just you drunkenly rambling on about how you love weddings and how you love_ me _and how you couldn’t wait to make me your husband. I’ve always secretly held it close to my heart, despite how much I teased you afterward for being a sappy drunk. But now… it holds an entirely different weight._

_As much as I outwardly resist anyone who tries to temper my expectations, I have to admit that sometimes the dark thoughts get the best of me. I’m ashamed to even admit that to you, because I don’t want you to think I would ever give up on you. Because I haven’t. I_ won’t. _But it’s hard sometimes. And I can’t always ward off the darkness. You were always the best at helping me do that. Without you, I feel kind of defenseless. I can’t stop the thoughts that sneak in sometimes. Like what if we never get married? What if I never get the chance to call you my husband? To have a beautiful wedding that you always dreamed of?_

_You deserve that, Connor. After everything we’ve been through,_ we _deserve that._

_I hope I get to hear your voice again soon. Not in a dream or in a video this time. I don’t know how much longer I can go without it. Until then, I’ll be at your side, hoping somewhere deep down you can hear mine._

_Nakupenda. Always._

_-K_

* * *

“What... what are you trying to say?”

The room was too bright, too small, and he was far too _fucking young_ to be here, having this conversation. To be sitting across a desk from a man in a white coat who was asking the impossible of him. Rattling off words that didn’t make any sense and telling him that he was the next of kin and therefore the sole decision maker. Which felt wrong on so many levels because Connor should have his parents here, should have someone else in his corner calling the shots other than a terrified twenty-four year old who felt like the floor would give out beneath him at any moment. He struggled to comprehend the words being thrown his way. They were important — the _most_ important — but it was as if his brain was rejecting them one by one as they fell on his ears. Like if he didn’t hear them, they wouldn’t be true. If he couldn’t hear the doctor telling him there had been no signs of improvement in Connor’s brain activity, he could keep clinging to the hope that every day he was under was one day closer to waking up.

“But he’s not...” Kevin swallowed around the horrid words. “I mean he’s not brain dead. You told me that there’s still activity, which means… which means there’s a chance.”

He hated the way the doctor looked at him with such pity. Pity felt so final. It felt like the decision had already been made, and as much as Kevin detested being the one to make it, this certainly wasn’t the outcome he wanted. The older man let out a long breath, leaning forward on his elbows in a way that Kevin suspected was his way of leveling with him. 

“Have you and Connor ever talked about end-of-life plans? About what he would have wanted in a situation like this?” 

Kevin nearly laughed out loud. If the words hadn’t struck such a powerful blow to his nervous system, he might have. Instead, he was rendered frozen in his chair, his jaw gaping.

“No,” he finally managed, pushing himself up in his chair. His chest felt tight, his words pinched tightly in his throat. “He’s... he’s twenty-five. I’m twenty-four, why would... He was _healthy._ We were _fine._ Why would we have reason to talk about that?”

The doctor looked sympathetic, but that wasn’t enough to quell the irrational anger that Kevin felt bubbling to the surface. 

“I know that your finances are... limited,” he spoke carefully, watching Kevin for some reaction he seemed to be anticipating. “And insurance will help part of the way, sure. But it is important that you are aware of the cost that can accrue in a long term situation like this.”

“I don’t care.” Kevin swiped at his eyes, an edge of hysteria creeping into his voice. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being cornered, being trapped, and it was enough to make his chest seize up, his breaths coming too short, too fast. “I don’t care about the money. I’ll... I’ll make it work, I’ll get another job. I’ll work around the clock, I’ll sell everything I own if I have to. If there’s even a _chance_ of him waking up, none of it matters.”

Something about his shift in demeanor, perhaps the fact that he was very visibly nearing a meltdown, was enough to make the doctor ease back. 

“The decision is yours, Mr. Price,” he reminded him. “Ultimately, you are the one who makes the call. And there’s no rush to the decision. I just needed you to be aware of the circumstances we’ve arrived at so that you can consider all of your options.”

“There is no decision to make.”

His voice was eerily calm when he spoke again considering the outright rage coursing through his body. He was standing before he realized he had meant to, the backs of his legs knocking against the chair. He vaguely processed the doctor’s voice calling after him, but it didn’t stop him from walking out of the office and down the hall, his vision blurring over as his stomach churned. He wasn’t sure when he had arrived in the bathroom or if he had intended to go there, but he was glad for the toilet when the bile rose up in his throat and he had no choice but to let it out.

* * *

_Dear Connor,_

_I don’t have a lot of time to write right now. I’m just on the train on my way home from work and… I wanted to say that I love you. That’s all, really. That I love you and I miss you. And I can’t wait for you to come back to me._

_There are so many people that can’t wait to see you again. Arnold and Naba and Chris and James. Your old friend Steve has been coming around, too. He’s living in the city for a while, which I know you’ll be super excited about when you wake up. I know how you always kind of missed him since you drifted apart. He’s actually really nice, Con. He’s been keeping me company while you’re asleep. Telling me all kinds of embarrassing stories from your childhood that you’re going to hate him for. But that’s okay, we are willing to take that risk._

_Anyway, I’m almost to my stop. I just had to say that. That I love you, Connor. And I’ll see you again soon._

_Nakupenda._

_-K_

* * *

Agreeing to game night had been a mistake. He had known full well it would be a mistake when he made the agreement, but it was getting increasingly harder to ward off Arnold’s pleading. Kevin had clung to some small hope that the distraction would actually be as good for him as his friends insisted, but he was foolish for even allowing himself that much. 

If anything, there was a gnawing guilt that ate away at him as he sat in James and Chris’s apartment, surrounded by all of their mutual friends while they joked and laughed and failed really fucking miserably to pretend they didn’t feel the gaping emptiness in the room. Kevin sat alone in the comically large oval-chair in the corner. The cheap flea-market find had quickly become his and Connor’s “assigned seat” when they visited for game night or drinks or whatever, and it had taken Kevin all of five seconds tonight to realize it was not meant for single-seating. It immediately felt too big, too empty when he sat down in hopes of feeling some semblance of closeness to him. He could practically feel the phantom touches of Connor’s legs hugging his hips as Kevin would sit back against him. Feeling his heartbeat through his chest. Twisting around to sneak kisses when no one was looking. Tasting white wine on his lips. 

Kevin closed his eyes for a moment and tried hard to ground himself. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged tightly, tuning his senses to the room around him. He tried to focus on the voices of his friends. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Naba laughed, swatting a card out of Arnold’s hand.

“You’re just mad because I’m winning.” His best friend snatched the card off the floor and flicked it at his fiance. 

“Cheating isn’t winning, dumbass.”

“I always forget how aggressive Naba can be when she drinks,” Chris chimed in, taking a sip of his beer. 

“All with love.” She smiled cheekily, tossing the card back into the deck and leaning in to plant a wet kiss on Arnold’s face. 

“Ew, don’t be gross.” Chris mimicked a gag. 

“It’s not that we have a _problem_ with heterosexuality,” James pitched his voice up, “We just wish you didn’t do it in public.”

“What, like this?” Arnold teased as he placed a hand on each of Naba’s cheeks and kissed her. 

“Absolutely vile.”

“Heavenly father has left the chat.”

Kevin had initially had faith in his ability to pull a facade for the sake of the group, but he expected he wasn’t succeeding as well as he thought. He loved his friends so much, and he was beyond happy that they were all lucky enough to find each other and form the relationships they had, but right then, seeing them happy and in love and together made his chest ache beyond what he could manage. 

“I need some air,” he announced, suddenly pushing himself out of the chair. The room drew to a silence around him as he stood, the laughter dying out in a way that only made Kevin feel guiltier. 

“Do you want company, bud?” Arnold was already half-pushing himself off the floor, but Kevin waved him off. 

“No, thanks.”

He focused on his breathing (and not the uncomfortable silence he was leaving in his wake) as he made his way to the small kitchen, throwing open the window to climb out onto the fire escape. 

The air was cold, but he didn’t regret leaving his sweater behind because the crisp breeze and cool metal pressed against his skin was a grounding force. He let his head fall back against the bricks, desperately hoping for the sound of car horns and distant music from the streets below to carry him away and drown out his thoughts. It was a pipe dream, of course, just as foolish as thinking that a night with his friends could distract him from the only thing that mattered in that moment. Without Connor, everything else he used to love and enjoy felt hollow. 

The conversation he had with the doctor a few days prior ricocheted off the walls in his mind, haunting him as it had since the moment he left the office. Sleep had evaded him for two nights in a row and both the physical and mental repercussions were chipping away at him slowly. Kevin felt the doctor’s words draping over him like a physical weight, growing heavier with time, pressing him down until he was sure he would break under the pressure. He was almost angry with him for shattering any lasting illusions of peace Kevin had managed to hold onto throughout the entire nightmare. Realistically, he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He had felt the ticking clock looming over them from the day he woke to find Connor in a coma. But now, there was no more ignoring it. 

The screech of the window sliding open made him jump, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to see James struggling to pull his lanky body through the small opening to join him on the fire escape. 

“I brought your sweater,” he said once he settled onto his knees beside Kevin. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Thanks.” Kevin accepted the outstretched garment but didn’t pull it on. He settled instead for wadding it up in front of him and hugging it between his thighs and his chest. They were quiet as Kevin directed his gaze to the passing cars below. 

“I know you said you didn’t want company,” James spoke after a moment. “I’ll fuck off if you really want me to.”

Kevin let out a long breath and hugged his legs a little bit closer. “It’s fine.”

It was hardly the most welcoming invitation, but it must have been enough for James because he pulled his long legs out from under him to sit with his back against the wall beside Kevin. 

“Did something happen with Connor?” He asked quietly after a minute of comfortable quiet. Kevin couldn’t help but let out a humorless breath through his nose. 

“As if the default state of him isn’t enough?” It came out a bit sharper than he intended, but James didn’t seem to take offense. 

“Of course,” James conceded. “That was probably a silly question.”

Kevin rubbed his hands over his face, his eyelids feeling heavy. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Kevin breathed, taking a moment to sort through his thoughts before he expelled his next thought. “Something did happen, actually.”

James looked up at him, a patient cue to continue. Kevin rubbed his palms nervously against his jeans. 

“The doctor, um. The doctor had a talk with me the other day. About my… options.” 

Kevin was suddenly glad it was James who had chosen to follow him outside, because he wasn’t super keen on elaborating, and he knew his friend would be reverent enough to follow. 

“Has something changed with his condition?” James asked, “Something that would prompt this conversation?”

“That’s the thing. His condition is the same. Apparently no news isn’t always good news in situations like these. There’s still a chance he could wake up any day now, but I guess, you know, it’s just as likely that… that he won’t.”

Kevin bit his lip, hard enough to taste a slight twinge of metal. 

“Was he trying to tell you to pull the plug?”

“Not exactly,” Kevin frowned. “He said the decision was mine to make, which doesn’t exactly make it any easier.”

“I can’t even imagine, man. I’m so sorry.”

Kevin shook his head, remembering the absurdity of the conversation. 

“He asked me if Connor and I had ever talked about what to do in a situation like this,” he scoffed. “I mean that’s insane, right? Have you and Chris ever talked about something like that?”

“Yes.”

Kevin turned to him, eyebrows raised. James offered a sympathetic smile. 

“After everything with his sister...” James averted his attention to a loose string on his jeans as he explained. “Apparently her last few days were really bad. He had to watch her suffer and it really messed him up. He said he would never want to be stuck like that if there was another option.”

Kevin let this response wash over him, a sinking feeling threatening to pull him down. 

“So, you’re saying you think Connor would feel the same way?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” James ran a hand through his hair, looking for a moment almost as tired as Kevin. “I don’t… I don’t know what he would want. And I don’t envy you your position at all, having to sort that out. It’s not fair on you.”

It was some cruel joke that after endless weeks of crying, Kevin still had the ability to produce tears at the drop of a hat. He didn’t even bother wiping them away as they swelled over his eyes. 

“Connor was there for me through the darkest nights of my life,” Kevin said. “Even when all I did was push him away and I didn’t have my head straight at all… he never gave up on me. Not once.”

James shifted closer to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders as Kevin collapsed into tears, squeezing the material of his sweater between his fists. 

“I’m not ready to give up on him, either,” he wept. “I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

* * *

He didn’t remember the train ride home. Or even leaving the apartment, really. 

The weekend crowds and glow of streetlights against rain puddles on the sidewalk blurred past him. He barely registered the rain as it poured down his face, dripping off his hair in thick beads and soaking through to his skin. The air should have felt uncomfortably cold against the wetness, but he couldn’t feel a thing. 

He was in his apartment — _their_ apartment — before he could process the three flights of stairs. Kicking off his waterlogged shoes and socks at the door, he shuffled his way inside, dropping his bag in the middle of the floor. He stood there, still and unfocused, staring into the dark doorway of the bedroom for an immeasurable amount of time. He hadn’t slept in there for days, opting for the small couch and throw blanket in the living room on the nights he wasn’t at the hospital. The memories, the smell, the sheer vastness of a bed that had once felt too small; it was all too much. 

The rain soaked clothes weighed heavy on his body, the soft patter of droplets against hardwood forming a puddle around his feet. Without thinking about it, he stripped off his long sleeved shirt, letting it slap wet against the floor. His belt and pants were next, pooling around his ankles. He stepped out of them and kept walking forward, his body moving on autopilot. 

He found himself in the bedroom, the only light spilling in from the living room around his silhouette. In the darkness, he stared down at the bed, hot tears mingling with cold rain. He reached out a hesitant hand, letting his fingers graze softly over the covers they used to share. For a fleeting moment, he thought about giving into the sudden impulse to bury himself in them. To wrap the blankets around his body, encompassing him completely, and just _inhale._ To indulge in the simultaneous balm of comfort and deep cut of grief. 

But he didn’t.

Instead, his body worked without the direction of his mind once again, and didn’t know what he was doing until he felt his knees hit the floor. His hands rose automatically to clasp in front of him, the muscle memory of so many years rushing forward to greet him on the floor of his bedroom. Tears streaming down his face, he allowed himself to lift his chin just slightly. 

And he began to pray.

“If you have ever loved me,” he spoke low through gritted teeth, feeling all control slowly bleeding from him as his chin began to quiver, his voice starting to break. “If you have _ever_ wanted to help me, in any way… Please. _Please,_ let it be this. Let it be him.”

He sucked in a gasp, his head falling forward against the bed. His hands remained clasped tightly, fingers white and trembling from the force with which he squeezed them together. 

“Save him,” he begged, his words muffled as the duvet buried his face. He was openly groveling before a god with a merciless track record of leaving him abandoned. The desperation, the helplessness that consumed him in that moment, coursing through his body... it terrified him. Brought him back to all the times before when he felt himself succumbing to the same fear. The powerlessness. All the times he prayed for God to take away his impure thoughts. The night he spent bent over a table preparing for death and all the subsequent nights of begging for peace. The desperate plea of a scared young man who felt his foundation giving way beneath him. Time and again, his prayers had fallen upon deaf ears.

But Kevin was willing to forgive it all. 

He would find it in his heart to relinquish every ounce of bitterness, of resentment at being sent unarmed into battle against his demons, if God could grant this one, just this _one_ act of mercy.

“Please. Just let him live.”

There, stripped bare on his knees before an invisible God, Kevin Price broke. The sound that came out of him was somewhere between a scream and a cry, ripping free from his throat of its own volition. He unclasped his hands and braced them against the mattress, digging his fingers into the covers as he let out another wail. He could feel the blue comforter staining wet beneath his face but he had no control over his body as he unravelled beside their empty bed, all the fear and loneliness of six long weeks breaking down the floodgates with humbling ease. 

His hand shot out in a sudden moment of desperation, fumbling blindly across the bed until it landed on its target. He grabbed the pillow that lay at the top of Connor’s side of the bed and pulled it to him, sitting back on his knees to clutch it to his chest. Without the support of the bed, his legs could no longer tolerate holding his weight, and he let his hips fall to one side so that he was sitting flat on the ground. Keeping the pillow tight against him, he pulled his knees to his chest and curled himself around that one small, lingering trace of Connor. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there on the floor. Long enough that the sore muscles in his face ached seamlessly into a migraine and Connor’s pillow grew soaked with tears. He could feel exhaustion setting in, threatening to extinguish the remaining flames of grief that burned inside him. 

In his last moments of consciousness, Kevin prayed for guidance. A begrudging plea that he couldn’t bring himself to speak out loud. _If you won’t save him,_ he prayed, _Then please, God, give me the strength to make the right choice._

* * *

He woke to a shrill ring and a sharp pain in his back. Wincing as he lifted his head, he felt around the hardwood beneath him, searching for the source of the noise. He still had one arm wrapped firmly around Connor’s pillow, and when he placed it on the bed, he found his phone lighting up at him underneath. The number was an unfamiliar one, but the area code was New York, and all at once his stomach twisted. He stared down at the screen, squinting against the harsh light in the darkness, and felt his hands shaking as he picked it up off the floor. He didn’t want to answer it. He couldn’t bear the thought of what words awaited him on the other side of the call. Shaky breaths were tearing their way into his lungs as his head spun. A full blown panic attack was lapping at the edges of his consciousness but he forced it down and away as he accepted the call. 

There was a moment of tense silence as he pressed the phone to his ear. His mouth was open but no sound came out. He closed his eyes, willing a calming breath, but the voice on the other end spoke before he could. 

“Kevin? Are you there?”

It was Danielle. Kevin’s heart sank even further. A raw panic rose up inside of him, sending daggers of adrenaline through his chest, a sharp tingling in his palms. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All thought and awareness in his mind and body narrowed in on a singular plea, a desperate rejection of the words that had not yet been spoken, all filtering into one single word. 

“Please.”

“Breathe, Kevin,” she instructed upon hearing his plea break off into a sob. “Take a deep, hon.”

He tried his best to comply blindly with her command but he could already feel himself sinking further into the panic. If she had waited even a moment longer to speak again, she might have lost him. But her next words were a brick wall, stopping him dead in his tracks. 

“You need to get here, now,” she said. “He’s waking up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain and body run solely off the fumes of positive reinforcement and validation, so as always, your feedback is appreciated. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I held onto this one a bit longer than I wanted to, but here we are. There is a little bit of discrepancy in length among chapters but I try not to write to a word count and instead make cuts around where I feel it flows story-wise. Hopefully you agree. Thank you to everyone who has kind things to say about this story, ya'll are truly The Best.

His shoes were wet from the rain when he sprinted through the automatic sliding doors, nearly slipping on the tile in the lobby. A passerby threw out an arm to steady him, but Kevin barely paid him any mind as he dashed past him to the stairwell. His heart fluttered wildly inside his chest as he made his way up two flights and down the familiar corridor to the ICU. The same path he had trod every day for the past six weeks suddenly felt so different. So ridden with anxiety of a different breed; no longer the prolonged dull ache of an uncertain future, but a sharp, thrilling jolt of adrenaline that stabbed into his chest with every step closer. Because Connor was awake. He was _awake._ The thought had both his footsteps and his heart rate speeding up as he turned the last corner before his room, nearly running head-on into Danielle. 

She placed a hand on each of his arms to steady him. “Kevin.”

“How is he?” He peeked over her shoulder to see if he could catch a glimpse of Connor through the small slat of glass. 

“He’s starting to come around. He opened his eyes about an hour ago.” She paused, dropping her hand from his arm to look him up and down, an amused smile playing at her lips. “You’re soaking wet, kid.”

Kevin ignored the latter observation, pressing his hand to his mouth to hold back a sob. He was sure he had never heard such beautiful words in his life. Part of him couldn’t believe this was happening; like it was a cruel dream that would be ripped away from him at any moment. 

“Can I…” he let out a shaky breath, glancing once again toward the room. “Can I see him?”

“Of course,” she said, “but you need to get your bearings first. Take a deep breath, okay? Connor is going to be scared and confused as he’s coming to. The last thing we want is to overwhelm him.”

Kevin nodded in wholehearted agreement. He tried to take her advice, pulling in a deep, cleansing breath and feeling dizzy as he let it out. 

“He’s awake,” Danielle whispered, the brightness of her beam contagious. Kevin smiled back at her and couldn’t suppress the tiny sob that escaped his throat. 

“He’s awake.”

Danielle looked like she wanted to say more, but instead she stepped back and nudged him toward the room. “Go on. Go see him.”

Kevin nodded wordlessly as he took a step around her, trying to push down the flood of emotions overwhelming his system. He stopped for half a second before he turned back suddenly, wrapping the shorter woman in a tight embrace. She made a small noise of surprise as he pulled her in, but it was only a moment before he felt her hands lift to his back. He had to crouch down to accommodate for the height difference, but he didn’t care. He hoped she could feel every ounce of the appreciation he would never be able to put into words.

* * *

Piercing blue, like something out of a dream, stopped him dead in his tracks. 

Eyes that he never thought he would see again; open and moving and _alive._ He wasn’t looking at Kevin, hadn’t seemed to notice his arrival as two doctors hovered over him, but Kevin could see _him,_ and that was more than enough. He watched from a distance in utter fascination, euphoria, absorbing every blink, every small movement, every second, still clinging to the fear that it would all evaporate before his eyes at any moment. 

Connor looked frightened. Kevin could only imagine what kind of mental state he was in as he tried to adjust to the shifted reality he had just awoken to. The fear in his eyes was magnetic. It pulled Kevin in, his legs operating without conscious thought to carry him across the room to his boyfriend’s side. Where he belonged. Connor noticed his presence for the first time as he approached the bed, blinking up at him as his eyes struggled to focus. 

“Connor,” he whispered, feeling his throat tighten around the name. He gripped the bed rail for support, sure his legs would give out from beneath him from elation, shock, or both. Connor stared up at him, his eyes shifting back and forth rapidly over Kevin’s face as if he struggled to take him in. He didn’t speak, _couldn’t_ speak, with the narrow, plastic cylinder secured between his chapped lips. There were a million things Kevin wanted to say, desperate to fill the empty void between them that had laid silent for far too long. 

It was the doctor’s voice that pulled their attention away from each other and onto him. 

“Connor,” he said, positioning himself beside his head and placing a hand on his shoulder, “it looks like you’re doing a good job of breathing without the machine, so we’re going to go ahead and remove the breathing tube, okay?”

Connor raised a tentative hand to brush against the long tube in his mouth. He blinked a couple of times before he nodded, seeming to slowly grasp what was being said to him. 

“Is it going to hurt?” Kevin couldn’t stop himself from asking. 

The doctor offered a sympathetic smile before addressing his response to Connor. “It’s going to be uncomfortable, but it will be over in a few seconds. I promise.” He squeezed Connor’s shoulder before releasing it. “I’m going to start by removing the tape.”

Connor nodded again, a little more lucid in his response that time, and the doctor made quick work of peeling it away. Connor flinched as the adhesive tugged at his skin and the uncharacteristic bits of stubble that had begun to poke through in his time under. When he was done, the doctor secured his hand on the tube and held eye contact with Connor, who was starting to panic as he became increasingly aware of the object in his throat. His chest rose and fell rapidly and Kevin watched his fists curl into the sheets at his side. Without hesitating, he reached for Connor’s hand. 

“I’m right here,” he began to say, but Connor jerked away as soon as he made contact. Kevin immediately pulled back. The wide, blue eyes that shifted to his were filled with terror. He only had a brief moment to consider the interaction before the doctor spoke again.

“Ready?” he prompted. Conor squeezed his eyes shut. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Kevin whispered helplessly beside him, keeping his hands to himself with great restraint. 

When the doctor began extubating, the hand that had rejected his touch only moments ago was suddenly clutching blindly at Kevin’s, tense fingers clamping around his own when he found them. Connor gagged and coughed as the obstruction was pulled through his windpipe, each desperate sound that escaped him a dagger in Kevin’s chest. The doctor directed him to keep coughing, that he was doing great. Connor tightened his grip and Kevin squeezed back, bringing his free hand to his hair, raking his fingers through it as he whispered soft words of encouragement.

“Almost there.” The doctor elicited a particularly strong gag as he pulled down and out, and then the end of the tube was visible and Connor was gulping in a deep breath. “Done.”

“It’s over, Con. You did great.” 

He wasn’t sure which one of them was more relieved for it to be over. As evidenced by his own trembling hands, Kevin hadn’t been prepared to witness something like that when he entered the room. It was, perhaps, a good indication of how ill prepared and ill informed he was for the immediate future. Connor’s chest heaved as he worked to calm himself, practically lifting his body off the bed with each breath. He pulled his hand out of Kevin’s, seemingly without conscious thought, and brought both of them to his throat. A pinched sound broke off into a dry cough as he tried to verbalize something. 

“Don’t try to talk yet,” the doctor instructed, pulling a plastic mask from the machine beside him. “We’re going to give you some oxygen, get your breathing under control, okay?”

Kevin winced as he placed the oxygen mask over Connor’s face, remembering his own panicked encounter with the device. He hoped it didn’t bother Connor as much as it had him, though after the trauma of the extubation, he didn’t expect it would register high on his radar. He watched as Connor’s eyes focused straight ahead, concentrating on pulling in long, deep breaths through his nose and mouth. 

The doctor continued his examination without much active participation from Connor, shining a small beam of light into each of his eyes, checking his pulse, asking him to squeeze his hands. When his breathing seemed to settle into an even pace, Danielle appeared at his side with a cup of water.

“Your throat is going to be pretty raw for a while,” she told him. “Water will help.”

Connor’s eyes were full of apprehension as Danielle, a perfect stranger to him despite Kevin’s unadulterated trust in her, gently pulled the mask under his chin. He shrank back slightly against his pillow as she raised the cup to his lips. Much to Kevin’s relief, she read his cue easily and pulled back. 

“Can I?” Kevin asked from the opposite side of the bed, extending a hand. Danielle smiled softly, surrendering the cup to him. 

“Slowly,” she directed as he took it, watching the water ripple in his shaky hold. He directed his gaze to Connor, who was looking up at him again with the same displaced look he had given him since he entered the room.

“Hey,” he addressed him softly, still not touching him. “Do you think you can take a sip of water?” 

Connor’s fingertips lingered at his throat as he continued staring at Kevin, his eyes dancing back and forth. He winced as he attempted a swallow, and the pain must have been convincing enough because he finally nodded. 

“Great.” Kevin smiled. “That’s great, hon.” 

Connor closed his eyes as he took the first bit of liquid into his mouth, squeezing them tight as he swallowed. Kevin pulled the cup back immediately, not daring to push him too quickly. 

“Do you want more?”

Instead of a verbal response, Kevin felt Connor’s hand brush up against the back of his own, nudging the cup forward. Kevin happily obliged, holding it as steady as he could while he drank. The sensation of Connor’s touch, intentional and soft and _real_ against his skin, was nearly enough to reduce him to tears. He watched as Connor eagerly drank, trying to quell his own anxiety about giving him too much too fast as stray trails of water dribbled down his chin. The contact was gone as soon as it came, but he could feel the burn of his fingertips on the back of his hand long after Connor pulled away. 

Kevin set the half-empty cup down on the table as Connor let his head fall back against the pillow, eyes blinking shut. The small bit of activity seemed to have been enough to exhaust him. He couldn’t stop staring at him. Watching his simple movements, like the flutter of his eyelashes or the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, with pure fascination. Kevin desperately yearned to touch him again. To run his fingers through his hair, kiss his forehead, hold his hand. 

But he didn’t. 

The fleeting moment of fear he had witnessed just moments ago, of Connor recoiling from his touch, flashed in his mind. Danielle had warned that Connor would be disoriented, but Kevin really didn’t know what he was dealing with here. He didn’t know anything.

Connor cleared his throat, wincing painfully as he did so, and Kevin leaned forward unconsciously, all attention solely gravitating to him. He watched as his cracked lips parted, sucking a shaky breath. His eyes were still closed and it seemed to require all of his concentration to get the words out. 

“M…mom.”

Kevin’s brow twitched downward before his eyes widened slightly. _Mom. Mom?_ Was he… how disoriented was he? Had he been aware enough to understand the interaction that had happened with his mother’s visit last week? Was he trying to tell Kevin that? 

“Your mom?” Kevin prompted gently. “What about her, sweetheart?”

“Mom,” Connor repeated, his hand moving to his throat as his voice cracked. “Where… where are my parents?”

Kevin blinked, his lips falling open slightly. He looked desperately to Danielle, who was watching the interaction with an expression Kevin couldn’t quite place, but was decidedly _not good._

“Connor…” He started again, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled with what to say, what to think. He didn’t have time to figure it out before Connor spoke again, a little more agitated this time as he shifted himself up in the bed. 

“I wanna see my parents,” He croaked, his voice slowly regaining minimal strength. His words took on an unfamiliar slur as he struggled to speak, and the frustration of it did not seem to be lost on him. “Where are they? What… what happened?”

Danielle must have read the fear in Kevin’s eyes quite plainly, because she decided to step in, placing a soft hand on Connor’s. 

“Connor,” she addressed him gently, “can you tell me what you remember?”

He turned to her, blinking against the harsh light in the room. 

“I…” He narrowed his eyes in concentration, a familiar small line forming between his brows. “I don’t know.”

He sounded so defeated. So scared. Kevin’s heart contracted painfully in his chest, all the adrenaline of the past hour coming to a slow, dizzying crash around him. Danielle caught Kevin’s eye for a moment, and she took a deep breath. 

“Do you know who this is, Connor?” She gestured to Kevin, who remained frozen in place as Connor’s eyes followed hers, landing on his face with the same wide-eyed confusion as before. A realization suddenly dawned on Kevin, a possibility that hadn’t occurred to him before and one he wished he could banish from existence now that it had. He feared he knew the answer before he even spoke, and still nothing could have prepared him for the agony of hearing it out loud. Of finally identifying the look in Connor’s eyes as fear. Apology.

Unrecognition. 

_“No.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has expressed interest/feedback on this story so far! It truly means so much to me to read your comments and know you're invested. I will try to keep my updates semi regular but I make no promises about the state of these poor boys as we go on. :))


	5. Chapter 5

“He’s asleep.” Danielle appeared around the corner, coaxing Kevin’s head from his hands. His eyes were bloodshot from more than the lack of sleep as he looked up at her. 

He had been ushered from the room just minutes earlier as Connor spiraled into something of a panic attack. An _'agitated state,'_ they had called it. The rapid beep of his heart monitor in time with his labored breathing echoed inside Kevin’s mind as he replayed the scene over and over. Danielle had been the one to pull him away from Connor’s side when things went south. Kevin had resisted at first, unwilling to be torn away from his side when he had _just_ gotten him back, but the look in Connor’s eyes had been a sharp realization for him. In that moment, Kevin had seen that _he_ was the cause of his distress, that _he_ was the thing making Connor spiral, and all resistance crumbled after that. 

“Is he okay?” Kevin asked weakly, standing and rubbing his palms anxiously against his rain-dampened jeans.

“He’s resting,” Danielle quickly assured him. She gestured for him to sit back down in the plastic chair against the wall and claimed the one beside him. “The doctor gave him something to help him calm down. Like I said before, this is all going to be very overwhelming for him.”

Kevin braced his elbows on his knees, his eyes unfocused in the direction of the floor. 

“I... I didn’t mean to...”

“I know, kiddo.” Danielle placed a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He doesn’t know who I am.” Kevin bit his lip, keeping his eyes forward as he tried not to cry. This whole night had felt like waking from a nightmare only to realize you were still dreaming. He desperately wished it _was_ a dream. That someone would bring him out of it and tell him everything was going to be okay and he could forget all about the horrible, soul-crushing devastation of looking into Connor’s eyes and having a stranger stare back at him.

The pair of them looked up when Dr. Smith rounded the corner, and suddenly Kevin was on his feet again.

“Connor’s okay.” He raised a placating hand, though the reassurance did little to ease Kevin’s concern. “It’s not uncommon for people to be disoriented when they come out of something like this.”

“So you think it’s just temporary, then?” Kevin tried to suffocate the small spark of hope before it could fan into a flame, but his brain clung to it anyway. “He could wake up again and remember me?” 

Dr. Smith exchanged a brief look with Danielle. “Connor has suffered a traumatic brain injury,” he explained. “The only thing I can tell you with certainty is that there are no hard and fast rules for situations like these. The aftermath of a TBI can vary drastically. Everyone heals differently, and on their own timeline.”

“So…” Kevin looked from Danielle to Dr. Smith, a slow burn of frustration spreading under his skin. Nothing they were saying was giving him any actual answers, and he couldn’t push away the feeling that they were dancing around some hard truth. “What does that mean?”

“It means we take things slow,” he said. “Before we move forward with anything, we need to take time to evaluate exactly what kind of state he is in. We’ll take it from there.”

“But you’re saying there’s a chance.”

The doctor sighed. “Connor was lucid enough to ask about his parents. He recognizes his own name. That’s a good sign,” he said. “Selective amnesia is not uncommon in cases like his. He may remember some parts of his history with decent clarity. In his case, it seems like he may be having better luck with the longer term. These symptoms can be temporary, to an extent.”

“Can be?”

“Pieces of the past may come back to him slowly, or certain memories can be triggered by something external and flood back rapidly. It’s unlikely he will ever fully remember the events of the attack that caused the injury, though.”

 _Good,_ Kevin couldn’t help but think. If there was any silver lining to come from this nightmare, it would be that. 

“But Kevin, it’s important that you remember what I said about unpredictability.” The warning tone in his voice set Kevin on edge. “There are no guarantees in this recovery process. It may be a good idea to start tempering your expectation of _normalcy._ For now, anyway.” 

Kevin didn’t love the implication there, but he nodded anyway, grateful to be receiving something resembling transparency. 

“In addition to the memory loss, Connor is probably going to be experiencing a lot of... charged emotions as he comes to terms with everything. People with TBIs are known to lash out, experience panic attacks, or fall into agitated states rather easily, so that’s something you should be prepared for.”

“Did I do that to him just now?” Kevin asked, absently clutching the material of his shirt at his chest. “Did I… Did I scare him?”

“No, hon.” Danielle stepped in with a soothing smile. “You didn’t. Connor is having to come to terms with a lot all at once. It’s going to take a little bit of time for the two of you to get on the same page.”

Kevin nodded again, desperate to believe what she was telling him. “How do I help him?” he pleaded. “I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“The best thing you can do is be patient with him,” the doctor said. “Having a solid support system is going to be vital in Connor’s recovery.”

“I will. Of course I will.” Kevin shook his head. The mere thought of doing anything else was nothing short of an absurdity. “For however long it takes.”

Dr. Smith cleared his throat and took a deep breath, and the uneasy feeling in Kevin’s stomach returned. 

“Listen, Kevin. Like I said, it’s too early to tell exactly where Connor is at. Once we know, we will do everything in our power to put him on the best recovery track we can.” He paused, and Kevin braced himself as he felt a massive _but_ rounding the corner. “Even when we do everything right, and take every precaution... it is important you understand there is a possibility that his memory may never fully recover.”

* * *

Kevin’s copy of _The Inheritance_ lay untouched in his lap as he stared straight ahead, fidgeting with a hangnail on his thumb. He had brought it as a distraction, a way to kill time, even though he had already read it three full times through. But he had been naive to think anything could distract him from this reality. 

Connor was still asleep from the sedative the doctor had given him earlier, and the sight of him unconscious in the hospital bed, so soon after Kevin had barely had time to wrap his head around him being awake, was jarring to his senses. The only thing that brought him solace were the minor details that set the present apart from the past. The way Connor’s lips were soft and closed instead of being forced open to accommodate an intrusive breathing tube. The way he twitched and made soft noises in his sleep every once in a while, supplying small reassurances that the sleep that separated them was not a permanent one.

These small reassurances weren’t enough to keep Kevin still. Every couple of minutes, he would rise from his chair and approach the bedside, his eyes scanning over Connor’s sleeping form as if he could somehow do a better job at monitoring his well being than the top-tier medical machinery he was still hooked to.

Every once in a while, Connor would begin to stir a little more violently, the small twitches and noises escalating to jerking movements and broken, frightened whimpers that pulled at Kevin’s heart. When these spells arose, Kevin would stroke his hair and whisper to him, as he had so many times when he was under. He would stay there by his side for as long as it took, telling him that he was there, that he was not alone, that he was safe, hoping that even if he didn’t know him in consciousness, that there might be some part of him hidden away in sleep that would recognize the safety of Kevin’s voice. 

Eventually he would settle back into his slumber, and Kevin could breathe for another few minutes. 

As much as he wanted Connor to wake up again, he was ashamed to acknowledge the slow, steady drip of dread that pooled in his stomach as well. Not only for the look of unrecognition that was sure to sting as much as it had the first time, but for the difficult conversation that lay before them. 

_Conversations._ Multiple. 

Danielle had offered to stay and help him through it, but Kevin assured her he could, _would,_ handle it on his own. That he didn’t want to overwhelm Connor with too many people bearing over him at once. But the truth was he was scared. Once again, twenty-four did not feel like an appropriate age to be holding this much responsibility. To be tasked with helping someone rebuild the story of their life from scratch.

Especially when so much of the news he was going to have to break was bad. 

Not for the first time, the focus of Kevin’s outrage turned briefly to Mrs. McKinley. Had she decided to stay, had she made the active choice to stand by her son instead of turning back to a church, a husband, a family that had abandoned him, maybe this would all be a little easier for Connor. His mother had been the first person he asked for when he woke up, so clearly his memory clung to her as some sense of familiarity. Maybe if she had been here when he woke up like she was supposed to, he wouldn’t have been so scared. Maybe… maybe the sight of her would have been enough to trigger his memory. Enough to bring him back to reality. Enough that he might have recognized Kevin.

But there was no use in focusing on what might have been. All they had now was what was in front of them. All they had was each other. Kevin was under no impression that he could ever possibly fill the shoes of a mother who had abandoned him, but he knew without a doubt that he would give everything he was to Connor. And maybe, eventually, that would be enough. 

He tried hard to remember the overwhelming information the doctor had given him, both verbally and in the form of informational pamphlets that were tucked away in his backpack. He had put up a valiant effort to read them thoroughly, but found that his eyes struggled to focus on the words and his brain wandered off without his permission. There were a few consistencies he had managed to latch onto. Primarily, there was the great need for a support system. The official advice was that they would _both_ need that, but Kevin didn’t really worry too much about his part in the equation. 

He had texted their friends about Connor waking up sometime early this morning. A simple message in a group chat hardly felt adequate after such a long and miserable journey, but it was all Kevin had in him at the moment, and he hoped they would understand. He figured they might, because he had also told them about the memory loss. They hadn’t known how to respond to that, and Kevin couldn’t blame them. But they promised to come by as soon as Kevin gave them the go-ahead, and they asked if there was anything Kevin needed from them. Which was nice, but again, Kevin would be fine.

In the chaos of everything, he had forgotten to tell Steve, which elicited a pang of guilt when he received a text that said he planned on swinging by after work. 

Steve had managed to snag a paid internship a couple weeks into his move to the city at some financial firm that Kevin didn’t fully understand, but he had continued to come by the hospital to visit, usually a couple nights a week. Sometimes he would bring takeout from the Chinese place down the street and they would share, as much Kevin could make himself eat. Sometimes he would take Kevin out for a drink at the bar outside the hospital on the nights he really needed a change of scenery. Steve was a nice guy. Which is why Kevin wasn’t surprised at all when he told him he was fine with waiting to see Connor until Kevin felt he was ready. 

Kevin decided to give reading another go, but just as he opened to his dog-eared page, Connor began to stir again. Immediately, Kevin set the book aside and crossed to the bedside, dragging his chair behind him. At first, he thought it would be another short spell of agitation, but as Connor began to squirm and mumble in his sleep, Kevin reached for his hand, holding it tight on top of the sheets.

“It’s alright,” he whispered soothingly, just as he had over and over in the past few hours. “You’re okay, Con.”

He felt the muscles in Connor’s hand tense at his words and he squeezed back encouragingly. He whimpered again, and after a particularly violent jerk, he jolted awake. His eyes sprang open and darted wildly about the room, finally landing on Kevin. When he became aware of his presence, his fingers melted away from his hold, pulling back slowly. Kevin swallowed hard, reminding himself, for what certainly wouldn’t be the last time, not to take it personally. 

Despite the hours Kevin had spent stewing over what he would say, he was completely at a loss for how to proceed now that he was awake. Connor stared up at him, eyes full of questions that only Kevin could answer, and he knew he needed to pull it together. 

“Hi,” he started tentatively, trying for a smile that was not reciprocated. 

“Y...you were here.” Connor’s eyes pinched shut at the coarseness in his own voice, and Kevin immediately reached for the water cup. “Before.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Kevin said, raising the cup to him. “Do you want some water?”

Connor blinked a few times, wincing as he swallowed. He nodded.

“Easy,” Kevin instructed, bringing the rim to his lips. Just like before, he held the cup steady while Connor drank, noticing with a twinge of pride that Connor’s mechanics were already showing a bit stronger than they were earlier. Only a small droplet of water escaped the corner of his mouth as his eyes fluttered closed. He pulled back when Connor tapped him softly on his wrist.

“More?” Kevin asked after giving him a moment to catch his breath. Connor shook his head.

Kevin took a few extra seconds setting the cup down, perhaps stalling just the slightest as he braced himself for what lied ahead. When he turned back, Connor was still watching him, cautious and guarded as ever. Kevin opened his mouth, hoping for some sort of instinct to kick in and form words for him, but it was Connor who spoke first.

“You know me,” he said. Half a question, half an observation. 

Kevin decided not to focus on the detectable slur in Connor’s words, the same impairment he had noted before but had hoped was just a result of having just having woken up and would go away with time. Maybe there was still a chance that it would. Regardless, it was hardly his first priority at the moment. 

“Yeah,” Kevin whispered, a small smile twitching at his lips. “Yeah, I… I know you very well.”

Connor pulled in a breath. “We’re friends?”

Kevin felt his throat tighten and nodded despite it. “You're my best friend,” he said, all the love and affection palpable in his words. Then, decisively, “More than that.”

Connor’s eyes widened slightly before he tempered his response, pulling his eyes down to his lap. His gaze shifted back and forth quickly as if doing some sort of calculation. When he made no effort to respond, Kevin kept going, watching him carefully.

“We’ve been together, um — dating, I mean — for a while.”

Connor's lips parted, and Kevin could see the tips of his ears growing red in way that felt so familiar and adorable it nearly reduced him to tears. “How long?” he asked. 

“Five years.” Kevin smiled. “Going strong.” He watched as Connor struggled to take that in, imagining for himself just how rattling that information would be to digest from the mouth of a perfect stranger. “Don’t worry. I know you don’t remember me. That’s okay, I’m not… It’s okay.” 

He paused to compose himself. Connor looked supremely uncomfortable, and Kevin felt the first prickles of panic crawling over his skin as he remembered the state in which he’d put Connor before, desperate to avoid doing that again. 

“Look, I don’t have any expectation for you to act like everything is normal,” he assured him.

“I don’t know what normal is supposed to be,” Connor whispered. 

A long sigh escaped through Kevin’s nose. He felt their conversation shifting toward the inevitable darkness, ready or not. 

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” Kevin said, settling into his chair. “You can ask me anything, it’s okay.”

Connor took a moment to consider the offer, eventually settling on the simplest request. 

“What happened?”

A loaded first question, but certainly a reasonable one. Kevin cleared his throat. 

“You were in a coma,” he told him. “For six weeks. You were... attacked.”

Connor blinked hard, shifting in his bed. “Attacked?”

“Yeah. These — These two guys, they…” the lump in Kevin’s throat swelled impossibly larger as vivid images of the night of the assault flooded his memory. Connor curled up on the ground, shielding himself from their blows. Blood trickling from the visible wound on his forehead as Kevin watched helplessly, unable to reach him. “They hurt you. Beat you up. In the alley, behind a bar. You hit your head really hard.”

“But... why?” 

The innocence in his voice, in the question, the pleading in his eyes nearly tore Kevin in two. The worst part was that he didn’t have a good answer for him. He had an answer, sure, in the distinct memory of a few derogatory words being thrown their way as their attackers retreated. But it wasn’t something he was thrilled to share. Still, he had told Connor he could ask him anything, and he intended to honor that promise. 

“We don’t know for sure,” Kevin said. “The police… they still haven’t found them. But we have reason to believe it was, ah. A targeted attack.”

Connor’s eyebrows drew together and Kevin let his eyes close. “Because we were together,” he explained. 

The realization dawned on Connor, and he nodded slowly. After a moment, he looked up at Kevin, a new concern stirring behind his eyes. “Did they… did they hurt you, too?”

A phantom pain in Kevin’s ribs that he hadn’t felt in weeks flared up at his side and he raised his fingertips instinctually to brush against it. “Don’t worry about me,” he smiled. 

Fortunately, Connor did not push the subject any further. Instead, he drew his bottom lip in between his teeth, his eyes going momentarily unfocused.

“What is it?” Kevin asked. 

“Earlier,” Connor started quietly, “when I asked about… about my parents…?”

Kevin’s heart stilled in his chest. Of all the difficult matters they had already addressed, this was the one he felt sure he would never be ready for. Regardless, he took a deep breath and tried his best to cushion the blow of an impossible truth. 

“Connor.” He softened his voice, actively resisting the urge to reach for his hand. “Your parents, um. You and them, you’re not on the best of terms.”

The deep line of confusion between Connor’s brows told Kevin he wasn’t doing either of them any favors by beating around the bush. He needed to be honest, as honest as he could, even if it hurt. Kevin closed his eyes, unable to look directly at him.

“You haven’t spoken in years,” he whispered. Silence hung heavy in the air, and Kevin allowed himself a beat before he opened his eyes, his heart nearly shattering when he did. 

“What?” Connor’s voice was so shrunken. His lip trembled around the word as he searched Kevin’s face, disbelief and devastation shining through the tears in his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, Connor.”

“No.” He shook his head, swallowing back the tremor in his voice. “No, my mom loves me, she… she would never…”

The look on Kevin’s face must have been enough to convince him, because the moisture in his eyes spilled over onto his cheeks. A particular cruelty occurred to Kevin in that moment, remembering the countless tears his boyfriend had already shed over his poor excuse for parents and the way the recent year or two had shown real signs of healing, only to have all of that pain, all of that progress thrown away as he was re-traumatized now. To have to feel it all over again. To start from scratch. 

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said again, barely holding back his own tears. The only force stronger than the burn in his throat, behind his eyes, was the determination to be strong for him. 

“Why?” Connor cried, his arms coming up to cross protectively over his middle. Kevin recognized the familiar self-soothing gesture right away. “What happened? What would make them…?”

Kevin shifted in his seat, struggling to find the most delicate way to tell him when there really was no such thing. What his parents had done to him was abhorrent and cruel, and Connor was entirely undeserving of it. He wanted to make sure he knew that part, first and foremost. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Kevin told him, his voice low and direct. “You have to understand that, okay? You did nothing wrong.”

“Please. Just tell me.”

Kevin breathed out.

“You went on your mission,” he started. He wasn’t sure exactly how much Connor remembered, but he figured if he could remember his parents with some amount of clarity, he might have retained some memory of the church as well. “Two years, in Uganda. That’s where we met.”

He made half a move to reach for Connor before he realized himself, pulling back and ignoring the subsequent sting of emptiness. 

“We, um… we fell in love there. We made a plan to come out to our parents when we came home, and… and things got messy.” Kevin winced at the memory of Connor’s father, red faced and angry at the base of the staircase. The look of contempt twisting his features. “He caught us kissing in your bedroom. He...” Kevin closed his eyes just long enough to breathe in. “He hit you.” 

Kevin didn’t feel it necessary to explain just then that _hit_ was a generous understatement for the state his father had left him in.

“No,” Connor whispered, more a plea than a denial. 

“He kicked you out after that. Your mom... she always loved you, Connor, but,” he paused, remembering the genuine pain in Mrs. McKinley’s voice, on her face when she had come to the city while Connor was under. “But she ultimately decided to stand by your father. And the church.”

Connor didn’t have a reply to that, and Kevin could hardly blame him. Instead, he brought his hands up to cover his face, his head falling into them as he collapsed into sobs. Kevin, feeling more helpless than ever, shot up from his seat to collect the box of tissues across the room. He brought it back to Connor and plucked one out, hesitating a moment before brushing the tissue against the back of his hand. A bloodshot eye peeked out at him and he accepted it with the hand that did not have a monitor clamped to his finger. After a quiet few moments, the only sound in the room being the muffled cries and sniffles from Connor, he asked the one question that could possibly make this conversation more painful. 

He looked up from his hands, his eyes full of hope and fear at the same time. “Do they know what happened to me? Did anyone tell them?”

This was Kevin’s toughest dilemma yet, catching him between his vow for transparency and the need to protect Connor in his especially fragile state. Lying wasn’t an option of course, but that didn’t simplify things. Because there was the simplest truth, and then there was the whole truth, and he didn’t know which one to divulge. Would it hurt Connor more or less to know that his mother had shown up here? Would it even serve him to know about it at all? Selfishly, Kevin didn’t know if he could stand to see him cry any harder than he already was. Unselfishly, the advice of the doctor rang loud and heavy in his mind, reminding him that Connor was in no state to be mentally and emotionally overwhelmed. 

It was the latter that tilted Kevin toward the simplest truth. 

“Yes.”

And really, that one word told Connor everything he needed to know. 

_Yes,_ someone had told them.

 _Yes,_ his parents knew that Connor had almost died. 

_Yes,_ even knowing that, they had made the conscious decision to not show up. 

To Kevin’s surprise, Connor did not break down again. Instead, his head fell lightly back against the pillows, exhaustion draining everything else from his features, even as a stray tear streaked down his face. 

“Okay,” he whispered, so quiet Kevin wouldn’t have known he had spoken if he hadn’t watched his lips move. “Okay.”

“...Connor?”

“Please.” Connor’s eyes fell shut. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Maybe we should —”

“Tell me something else.”

“What?”

“Something, anything else,” he pleaded. “About me.”

In an instant, Kevin’s mind was flooded with an ocean of possibilities, all of them rushing past him too quickly to latch onto. Anything, he could tell him _anything,_ but how was he supposed to pick just one thing? It was almost comical, how he could know someone more deeply than he’s ever known a single living soul, and somehow find himself unable to name _one_ thing about him.

“You’re an actor,” he blurted suddenly, his brain clutching the first solid thing it could. Connor’s head raised from the pillow, his lips parting slightly. 

“I am?”

“Yeah,” Kevin breathed, feeling a proud smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You had just gotten a callback for an off-Broadway show when…” He trailed off in horror as he realized, perhaps, that was not the best additional piece of information he could have shared.

But Connor didn’t look wounded by the realization. He looked… happy?

“Wait,” Connor said. “Off-Broadway? Like… like as in New York?”

Oh. _Oh._ Holy shit. It hadn’t even occurred to Kevin just how many baseline truths Connor would be wholly unaware of. Suddenly, his mind was racing to think of any other key pieces of information he might be leaving out. He was sure there were plenty, but he would have to make a list later. Right now, he was given the opportunity to finally, finally, break one piece of good news to Connor, and he wasn’t going to squander it. 

“We live here,” Kevin chuckled, watching as Connor’s pupils dilated at his words. “We moved here after our mission. Together.”

Connor opened his mouth to speak, but only a small sound came out. He closed it again, looking briefly around the room. “We’re in New York? _Now?”_

“Yeah.” Kevin pressed the tips of his fingers against his lips to stifle the giggle that threatened to erupt from the euphoric relief of seeing something other than pain in Connor’s eyes. “We are.”

“Can I… Can I see?”

He followed Connor’s gaze to the singular window across the room. The shades were drawn, letting only a small sliver of light peek through the edges. Kevin’s eyebrows shot up, eager to have some small task he could actually achieve for his boyfriend in an otherwise helpless situation. 

“The nurse said you’re too weak to try and do any walking yet, but— here.” Kevin pushed back in his chair, quickly crossing the room. He pulled on the beaded string that connected to the top, watching as daylight poured into the room. Connor blinked against the harsh sunlight, and Kevin’s hand paused. 

“Is it too much?” he asked quickly. But Connor shook his head, squinting in the direction of the window. 

From the trajectory of the bed, he realized Connor probably couldn’t see actually much more than an empty sliver of sky. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw Connor struggling to brace his arms beneath him, trying to push himself higher to see. Kevin rushed back to his side. 

“Wait, just —” His hands hovered nervously over Connor’s body without touching. “Careful. Don’t push yourself. Can I…” Kevin swallowed hard, praying he wouldn’t be overstepping with his next offer. “Can I help you sit up?”

Connor’s muscles went slack, his shoulders falling back against the bed as he looked up at Kevin, something like apprehension visible in his features. He was about to retract his offer, to apologize for overstepping, when Connor nodded.

“Oh,” Kevin said quietly. “I — Okay, just. Grab onto my arm.”

He held his forearm out in front of Connor, waiting patiently as two tentative hands rose to grip onto it. His boyfriend’s palms were cool and clammy against his skin, but the simple touch set his nerve endings on fire.

“Good,” Kevin nodded, pushing down his own well of emotions as he brought his other arm up. “Can I… Is it okay if I touch your back?”

Again, Connor nodded. 

Slowly, cautiously, Kevin slipped his free arm between Connor’s shoulders and the bed, his fingers curling lightly around the opposite side of his ribcage. 

“Okay, ready?” he prompted. “I’m going to sit you up on the count of three.”

He counted them down and felt Connor’s hands tighten on his forearm. As he pulled him upright, a tiny sound of exertion escaped Connor’s throat. Kevin could feel the tension, the slight tremor of underused muscles being overexerted as he tried to help Kevin support his body. 

“It’s alright, just relax,” Kevin told him. He felt Connor ease back slightly at the gentle command, the pound of his heart tangible against Kevin’s arm. “Put all your weight on me, okay? I’ve got you.”

Connor finally complied, letting the last of his resistance fall away as he melted his upper body into his hold. Kevin knew that the position was purely functional, that Connor was leaning into him only as a means of completing a task that he simply couldn’t do on his own. Still, Connor was in his arms. He was _holding_ him, feeling his heartbeat, the tiny sliver of his warm skin against his arm where his gown split in the back. Kevin clenched his jaw, willing himself not to cry. When he looked at Connor's face, he was mesmerized by the awestruck glimmer in his eyes. 

He was staring out the window with a look that Kevin hadn’t seen since the day their plane landed. Kevin followed his gaze to the window, trying to see what he was seeing. It wasn’t the best view in the world, but the positioning of the hospital put their exterior wall against an opening where they could see out without any nearby buildings obstructing the window. 

“I’ve always wanted to live in New York.” Connor’s small voice brought Kevin back to him, his head snapping to attention. He blinked at him, feeling his own heartbeat in his throat.

“You… you remember that?” he asked. 

Connor squinted, concentrating on something as he kept his eyes toward the window. “I… yeah. I- I think so.”

 _He thinks so._ He thinks so. That was… well, it wasn’t much of anything, but it wasn’t _nothing._ And frankly, Kevin was in no position to turn down hope in whatever form it presented itself. 

He felt Connor starting to squirm against his arm and took the cue to lay him back gently against the bed. He slowly removed his arm from behind his back once he was settled, already mourning the loss of the contact before it was gone.

“I have another question,” Connor said after a moment, after Kevin had reclaimed his seat next to the bed. 

“Anything.”

He pulled his gaze away from the window long enough to meet Kevin’s eyes. 

“What is your name?”

He almost laughed. And then, he did laugh. Because it was exactly his brand of absurdity to get so caught up in the big questions and worries that he would forget something as simple as introducing himself. He shook his head, and then decisively, carefully, he extended an open hand.

“My name is Kevin,” he said. “Kevin Price.”

Connor stared down at his open hand for a moment. For several moments, in fact, leading Kevin to believe for a soul-crushing instant that he would be rejected. Then, like a light shining down from the heavens, Connor lifted his weakened, fragile hand and placed it in his, squeezing lightly. 

“Kevin,” Connor repeated, slowly, as if turning the new word over in his mouth.

And _god._ That sound.

It was different in his new voice, the slant in his diction that hadn’t been there before twisting the syllables in an unfamiliar way... in the same way it twisted Kevin’s stomach over implications they would address at a later time. But it was his name on Connor’s lips, like rain after a drought, and nothing could take that away.


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear Connor,_

_You’re awake._

_I guess that’s probably a confusing way to start this letter, considering the whole reason behind writing them was to have a way to talk to you while you were... under. The plan was that you would wake up and I could throw these away, shred them, burn them, put them behind me like the rest of the terrible pain of the past few weeks, and we would move forward. Together. I never expected it would be easy, but I knew that you and I could face any challenges that came our way, just like we always do._

_But life doesn’t always go according to plan._

_I’m still struggling to wrap my head around everything. I think the hardest part is that, throughout all of this, the only person I want to talk to, to lean on, is my best friend. And my best friend doesn’t even recognize my face._

_I don’t mean to diminish the other relationships in my life. Our friends have been incredibly supportive, but it’s not the same with them. It’s never been the same with anyone else, and it never will be._

_I can’t stop thinking about the day you woke up. The first small moments of contact, that dreamlike euphoria. The rush of having you back, of finally having my most desperate prayers answered. And then the subsequent transition into a nightmare as you looked at me like a stranger for the first time since we met._

_I’ll never forget that moment, and I’ll never forgive myself for scaring you that day. Danielle assured me it wasn’t my fault, that I didn’t do anything wrong, but I know she’s being too kind. You have to understand, I was afraid, too, and I was desperate to believe what I was hearing wasn’t true. That still doesn’t excuse it. I can only imagine what it must have felt like for you, waking up from some terrible accident with no memory of it, only to have some perfect stranger grabbing at you, crying and begging you to recognize them. I really am sorry. I swore to myself that day that I would never be the cause of your pain again, and it’s a promise I intend to keep._

_Anyway, that’s why I’m still writing these letters, I guess. I may have you back — and please believe me, Con, I have never been so grateful for anything in my entire life — but I don’t really have you. Not like before. And as much as I want to throw myself into your arms and make you feel all of the love your brain can’t remember, this isn’t about me, now. This is about you. Getting you better, getting you healthy, making sure you’re safe and comfortable and as happy as you can be. And that can’t happen if I’m putting the weight of my own problems on you. I’ll be fine. Whatever blows I have to take in the meantime… well. Don’t worry about that. Because even if things did not play out the way I expected, you are awake, you are alive, and that is what matters._

_I meant it when I said I would never give up on you, Connor. This, like anything else in the world, could never change that._

_Nakupenda,_

_K_

* * *

The man who introduced himself as Kevin was asleep in the chair beside his bed when he woke up. He had his jacket draped over his chest and shoulders like a blanket, his head tilted back to rest against the wall, a light snore purring from his parted lips. He looked peaceful, Connor thought, which made him appear much younger than before. 

In a way, this small change was a comfort. It was somehow easier to reconcile this person with the information he had been given earlier. That this handsome stranger was his boyfriend of nearly five years. That he, himself, was twenty-five years old. That he had a boyfriend _at all._

He pinched his eyes shut against the oncoming headache as his mind struggled to process everything. 

It was as if someone had pressed the _refresh_ button on his life before he had a chance to save his progress. All the things that made his life _his_ — every key player, every solid truth and seemingly insignificant detail he knew — had been swapped out overnight for a fresh set of strangers and realities that he was just… meant to accept. 

He felt a bit like a rat in a lab, or the subject of some very elaborate prank that everyone was in on but him. But it was all so _real,_ so tangible and visceral even when it all felt so far away, and that was the most maddening part of it all. The convincingness of everyone’s role only made him feel crazier for not being able to place a connection with any of it. 

Kevin was, perhaps, the ultimate culprit of this. 

He had never seen anyone so devoted in his life. So devoted that it seemed to cause him physical pain at times, and if he was being honest… it wasn’t just himself that it was hurting. 

Connor couldn’t shake the guilt that suffocated him when Kevin was around. It was through no fault of his own, and Connor recognized this. He could tell Kevin was trying to mask it for his sake, but his pain shone through easily despite his efforts. Kevin may have been a perfect stranger to him, but Connor didn’t need to know someone familiarly to feel compassion for them. 

But then that was the issue, right? Connor _did_ know him familiarly. Or he was supposed to, anyway. More than knowing him, he was supposed to be madly, deeply in love with this kind man who slept at his bedside and steadied cups of water at his lips and offered to hold his hand when the doctors overwhelmed him with too many questions, too many hands or needles or too much _everything._

Ironically, it may have been Kevin alone that kept Connor grounded in the plausibility that it was not an elaborate prank after all. Because even the most compelling actor in the world couldn’t fake that kind of love. 

The nurse who Connor had come to recognize as Danielle knocked on the metal doorframe when she saw he was awake. He turned his sleepy eyes to her as she entered. She had long, ginger hair, much like his own, and Kevin seemed to be incredibly fond of her, which made him feel like he could trust her a little more than the rest of the scrub-clad strangers that came and went from his room throughout the day, poking and prodding at him. 

“Morning,” she greeted, keeping her voice hushed as she cast a glance at Kevin’s sleeping figure in the corner. 

“How long has he been here?” Connor asked, pushing himself up in bed. 

A tiny smile curled at Danielle’s lips as she made her way to Connor’s side, slipping on a pair of latex gloves. “He was here when I clocked out last night,” she said, glancing once more in his direction. “I’m guessing he hasn’t left.”

Connor nodded, trying to put a name to the strange feeling in his chest her words had prompted. 

“Is it okay if I check your head?” she asked, and Connor inclined his head, allowing her access to the spot where he knew the scar from his staples was still healing. 

He didn’t remember anything from the assault. He hadn’t even known there _was_ an assault to remember in the first place. Everything he knew about what had brought him here was from whatever Kevin had told him, which, admittedly, wasn’t much. It was obvious to Connor that talking about it made Kevin uncomfortable, so he had tried not to push the subject. In the end, he figured it was probably for the best that he didn’t remember it anyway. 

Danielle separated a tuft of his hair gently, prodding at the area around the wound. It didn’t hurt, which he figured he should feel optimistic about. “It's healed nicely,” she said. “Your hair is already starting to come in pretty strong.”

Connor let his eyes wander over to the corner as she examined him, peeking up at Kevin from under his lashes. He took in the sight of his wrinkled t-shirt peeking out from behind the jacket. If he concentrated hard on remembering, he supposed that probably was what he had seen him wearing the previous day. Folded over his thigh was the same red-covered book Connor had seen him reading before. 

“He always has that book with him,” Connor muttered, not necessarily meaning to have spoken out loud. 

Danielle made a light humming noise in acknowledgement. “It’s a play, I think,” she told him. “He used to read it out loud to you every day when you were asleep.”

In addition to another tug in his chest, the information prompted another concern. One he hadn’t been brave enough to broach yet with Kevin or his doctors. “My… my voice.” He swallowed hard. “Do you know if, if it’s always been like this? Before what happened?”

Danielle’s smile took a sadder turn at this, removing her hands so he could sit up straight again. “No, sweetheart. It wasn’t.”

He swallowed hard, mustering a weak nod. He looked away for a moment. “Kevin said I was an actor,” he whispered. “That I was going to be in a play on Broadway.”

“I know,” Danielle laughed, a light, comforting sound. “Trust me, he wouldn’t shut up about you. Ever.”

“Do you… do you think I could do that again? With- with my voice like this, I mean?”

The nurse let out a long breath through her nose, peeling off her gloves to discard in the bin in the corner. “Speech therapy could help you tremendously. Even if your voice never goes completely back to the way it was before,” she told him. “The good news is, you’ve got about the strongest support system you could ask for in that kid.”

Connor followed her gaze once more, watching Kevin snore quietly from the corner. 

“You’ve got a tough road ahead of you, there’s no doubt about that. There are very few reasons anyone could call you lucky right now,” she said. “But having someone like him in your corner is one of them.”

* * *

Kevin had clung to some misguided hope that Connor’s memory might instantly flood back to him the first time he saw their friends again. He was disappointed, of course, when Connor had turned to him with questioning eyes upon their arrival, but Kevin forced a smile anyway and introduced them.

They came bearing coffee from Kevin’s favorite cafe in Brooklyn (even though he assured them he was _fine_ and that he definitely _was_ getting enough sleep) and gift shop flowers, along with a giant teddy bear, and Kevin was reminded once again just how lucky he was to have them. 

Chris, never one to pass up the opportunity for a corny joke, had brought a box of his signature brown-sugar-cinnamon Pop-Tarts as a means of introduction. Naturally, Connor had a hard time concealing his perplexity at the gesture, but accepted it anyway. There was a moment, brief but thrilling, where Connor had held the box between his palms and stared down at it with a look Kevin couldn’t quite decipher. Maybe Kevin was the only one who noticed it, but in his mind, the entire room was holding its breath as he prayed for some flicker of recognition to pass through his eyes. For a moment, he was almost sure the cheap, blue box in his hands was about to be his redemption; like something about the image was going to peel back the curtain his brain had drawn over the past. 

But the sparkle in his eye was gone as soon as it had come, the fleeting spark of recognition washed away. Kevin let out a long breath through his nose, wishing he could expel the stab of pain in his chest along with it.

Their friends also brought a tote bag full of miscellaneous items they had strategically collected among the four of them; physical things that might hold some ingrained familiarity for Connor.

The first item was a scrapbook that Chris and James had put together upon their return to the States, filled with photos from James’s film camera, pressed flowers from the village, and small trinkets made by people in the market. Chris had pulled up a seat and propped the book against the railing of the bed as he flipped through it, taking extra care to point out the photos of him and Connor together, and to tell each story associated with it. Though he kept it well concealed, Kevin could see the sadness behind his friend’s eyes as each photo was met with an unconvincing half-smile or a weak nod. 

Kevin supposed he could recognize it so plainly because it was a reflection of the way he felt on the inside; the backburner ache of maintaining a brave face when all you wanted to do was cry. 

“This one is from the day you got sun poisoning,” Naba leaned over Chris’s shoulder to point to a photo at the bottom of a page. “Well, the first of many, I should say. You didn’t have much luck on that front.”

Kevin sat back and observed the scene from the furthest chair against the wall, letting Connor have some space with their friends without him looming over. There was something perceptibly comforting about having the whole gang in the same room after having lived under ever-present threat that it may never happen again. He supposed that was something to be grateful for, even in the face of the new strangeness of their dynamic. Everyone was struggling to adjust, most of all Connor, but they were trying.

“Yeah, but you were a trooper,” Chris interjected proudly. “Even when you were shedding like a snake, you were outside working.” 

“Until Kevin would force you to take a break,” Naba corrected.

Connor looked up at Kevin briefly, flashing a small smile from across the room, and Kevin returned it easily, clinging to every bare scrap of connection he could get. The moment was gone too soon when Chris pulled his attention back to the book.

“Ooh, this one is from our first Triple D… Discreet Double Date,” he explained upon seeing Connor’s look of confusion. “You, me, James, and Kevin.”

“The laws in Uganda made things a little tricky,” James added. “So the four of us had to get creative.”

Connor’s eyes flickered between James and Chris, a sudden realization dawning on him. “So, you two are…?”

“Together.” James smiled. “Yes.”

Connor seemed to struggle taking this in, his eyes shifting from both of them and then to Kevin, and Arnold let out a boisterous laugh from across the room. 

“Don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking,” Arnold said. “And no. The water in the mission hut didn’t turn _everybody_ gay.” He lifted he and Naba’s intertwined hands for emphasis. “Just most of you.”

“He’s kidding,” James said. 

“Am I? Because I always got a little bit of a vibe from Neely, too,” Arnold teased. 

“I did see him checking out Kevin once,” Naba noted supportively, and Chris nodded his agreement. 

Kevin rolled his eyes, a small smile cracking through. “No, you did not.”

“Who’s Neely?” Connor asked quietly, bringing the attention of the room back to him. Arnold bit his lip and Chris flipped through the pages in the book to find the group picture on the last page, pointing to the well-built brunette in the back row. 

“That’s him,” he said. “Honestly, it’s probably for the best that your brain decided to forget that one.”

_“Christopher,”_ James scolded. 

“What? Like you would choose to _remember_ Neely if you had the option?”

The laughter died down and Chris’s eyes fell back to Connor as he watched him study the photo on the page with a concentration so heavy it almost looked painful. He frowned at his friend. 

“You really don’t remember any of it, do you?” he asked sadly. 

The room fell quiet again and Connor looked up when he realized everyone’s eyes were on him, his face flushed from some combination of frustration and embarrassment. He abruptly closed the scrapbook and pressed it into Chris’s hands, a silent request to take it away. Chris took the cue, looking a bit flustered by the abrupt shift in demeanor, and slid it back into his tote bag, taking a step away from the bed to give him some space. 

“I… I’m sorry, —” Connor stuttered through an attempted apology, his brows drawing together in frustration. Kevin could tell he was having a particularly difficult time with his speech today, and he watched helplessly as he opened his mouth to say something more before he clamped it shut, his fists curling in his sheets. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath of defeat, and Kevin could see the pale skin around his face and neck growing red and blotchy the way it did when he was upset. 

Kevin couldn’t bear to watch him struggle anymore. He pushed up from his chair, stepping in. 

“I think that’s probably enough for one day.” He tried to sound casual as he stretched his back from the prolonged sitting. 

Thankfully, his friends were wise enough to take the hint graciously. They packed up the rest of their things, each giving Connor a smile or a gentle squeeze on the shoulder as they bid their goodbyes. Connor, despite his obvious exhaustion, tried his best to reciprocate politely, but Kevin could see the cost of the forced interaction written all over his face and made a mental note to talk to their friends about backing down from the physical displays of affection next time. 

When they were alone again, Kevin turned to Connor, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize on behalf of their friends, or on behalf of himself for reintroducing socialization too soon, so he took the emphasis off of himself entirely.

“You alright?” he asked instead. Connor nodded. 

“Thank you,” he spoke quietly, embarrassed in a way that Kevin desperately wished to extinguish. “For… for that.”

Kevin nodded once in return, offering a tight smile. He both resented the air of formality that had taken up residence between them and cherished the brief attempt at connection for what it was. He supposed that was what Dr. Smith had meant when he talked about tempering Kevin’s expectations of normalcy. Learning to take the good with the bad for a while. For however long. 

“Anytime.”

* * *

Kevin jolted to awareness when an empty, plastic cup was slapped onto the counter in front of him.

“Venti peppermint mocha with soy.”

He blinked up at his fellow barista — whose name he should be forgiven for forgetting given the circumstances — and gave a nod of acknowledgment, along with an apologetic half-smile. Judging by her narrowed eyes, that wasn’t the first time she had tried to get his attention.

He wiped his palms on his apron and turned on his heel, getting to work preparing the drink. For once in his life, he was grateful for the three years of experience under his belt that allowed him to operate on autopilot without committing any major beverage fuckups (usually). Mostly, he was grateful for the concept of a free shift drink. But even his stolen sips of cold brew under the counter weren’t enough to combat the burn behind his heavy eyelids, nor the lethargic ache of his muscles as he struggled to stay awake.

He hadn’t gotten much sleep in… well, in a while, but the only sleep he had really gotten in the last day or so was in the form of stolen naps in the chair beside Connor’s bed. Not that he was complaining. Every second he got to spend with Connor was a privilege he wouldn’t soon take for granted, only elevated by the slow-but-present inclination in comfortability that he felt growing between them with each passing day. 

It was nothing major, perhaps more wishful thinking than any actual, detectable change, but it was enough to keep Kevin hanging onto his sanity by a thread of hope; a hope that one day, even if the memories from _before_ never made a grand, sweeping return, that the two of them could grow into something new and equally beautiful. That the incidental brushes of the backs of their hands could one day become fingers intertwined, and the shy, awkward pauses in conversation might morph naturally back to comfortable, safe silence. 

He could live with that. He would happily live with that. 

It was a conscious effort — and taxing work, frankly — to ensure he was not placing too much expectation on Connor, who shouldn’t be focusing on anything more than making it through one day at a time. He shouldn’t have to carry the weight of Kevin’s emotional baggage when he had enough on his plate. After all, he was the one who was… who had been…

His eyes pinched shut, and when he opened them again, the vivid flashes of bloody pavement behind his eyelids took the shape of splattered coffee against tile. 

Kevin drew in a rattling breath, blinking a few times to make sure he was in the present before turning around to face the watchful eyes of his coworkers, his cheeks burning red.

“Sorry,” he murmured, quickly snatching a rag from under the counter and kneeling in front of the spill. He cleaned his mess and finished making the drink in a fluster, being extra mindful of his shaking hands as he worked, unsure at this point if it was from the cold brew, the sleep deprivation, or the fucking intrusive flashbacks he wished would just leave him the fuck alone. He had dealt with enough post-traumatic stress for one lifetime. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he apologized without looking up as he handed the drink over the counter to the waiting customer. 

“Kevin?”

He lifted his eyes at the familiar voice, blinking in surprise at Steve Blade, who accepted the drink from his outstretched hand.

“You don’t usually work evenings,” Steve noted.

“I’m picking up shifts where I can.” Kevin shook his head, which was starting to pound from what was probably a combination of things, the tiredness making it difficult to keep up his usual polite mannerisms. “Sorry, what are you doing here? Not like— no, that was rude, I’m sorry, I mean…”

“Nah.” Steve shifted uncomfortably, dropping his gaze momentarily. “I’m actually glad I ran into you here. I’ve been texting you.”

“We’ve been slammed,” Kevin said apologetically. “I couldn’t check my phone.”

“Right. No, of course.” Steve waved him off. “Well, I was texting you to see if… to see if Connor would maybe be up for guests?”

Kevin blinked at him.

“Just one guest, really,” Steve elaborated awkwardly, gesturing to himself. “Me.”

“Shit,” Kevin breathed, bringing a palm up to rub over one of his eyes. He looked back to Steve, apologetic and exhausted. “Hey, I’m sorry man. I… well, to be honest it completely slipped my mind to get ahold of you. I know, that’s horrible. Everything has just been so crazy with… you know, the memory thing and all the testing and...”

“Hey.” Steve placed a hand on the counter and Kevin stopped short. “Please, dude. Don’t apologize. I can’t even imagine what things must be like for you right now.”

Kevin let out a half-chuckle, running a hand through his hair as a rogue clump of bangs fell into his eyes. 

“I hope I’m not overstepping by just showing up like this,” Steve continued after a moment. “It’s just been a little bit since I heard from you, and I was passing by on my way home from work, so I figured…”

“Yeah.” Kevin nodded. “Yeah, of course.” He took a deep breath and looked around at the mostly-empty cafe area, then at his watch. “Look, if you don’t mind waiting around for a few minutes, we’re about to close up shop. I can check in with Connor and see if he’s up for a visitor.”

Steve smiled. “That’s perfect,” he said, puncturing his lid with a straw. “I’m in no hurry.”

* * *

A thought occurred to him when they were almost to the room, and Kevin stopped short, turning to face Steve. 

“Look, um… it’s not that I think you would say anything or something like that, but I think you should just be aware.” Kevin kept his voice hushed and low as he spoke to him, cautious not to let his words carry around the corner on the off chance Connor was awake. “You’re going to notice his, um… His speech. Just like, the way he talks, I guess. It’s different than before.”

Steve noded slowly, and Kevin felt sort of stupid for the poor way he was explaining it.

“The doctors say that kind of thing can happen,” he shrugged, keeping it light even though the thought of it tore at his heart. “And that speech therapy can help. But for now…”

“Got it.”

Once again, Kevin was grateful for Steve Blade.

He asked him to stay in the hall while he checked with Connor, which he agreed to without hesitation. 

When Kevin opened the door, the only light in the room came from the small television in the upper corner as it played through an old rerun of a show he was sure Connor had never seen before. His boyfriend’s eyelids were drooping but not closed, and Kevin winced as Connor startled to full awareness at the click of the door.

“Hey, you,” Kevin greeted, stepping into the room. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“Y’didn’t,” Connor slurred, rubbing over his eyes as he pushed himself up weakly. 

Kevin made his way slowly to the bedside, placing one hand on the rail as he looked down at him. He looked so sleepy. For a moment, Kevin almost considered telling Steve to go home, that they could try again tomorrow, but he immediately scolded himself for the thought. As much as he cared about Connor, he couldn’t let his concern override his respect for him to make his own decisions.

“There’s someone here who wants to see you,” Kevin said. “An old friend of yours.”

Connor blinked hard, refocusing his eyes against the darkness of the room. “Okay,” he said weakly, though the lack of conviction didn’t sit well with Kevin. 

“If you’re not up to it, you can tell me,” he assured him, squeezing the bed rail lightly to keep from running his fingers through Connor’s messy hair. “He won’t mind.”

Connor made a face, one that Kevin couldn’t quite decipher, before finally shaking his head. “S’okay.”

“Okay.” Kevin smiled, tapping the rail twice before stepping back toward the door. “He’s right outside.”

Kevin poked his head into the hallway and found Steve leaning against the wall, anxiously fidgeting with the phone in his hand. His eyes lit up when Kevin gestured for him to come in. Hesitating only a moment, he stepped into the room, and Kevin turned to the door to make sure it closed softly behind them.

“Connor, this is your friend—”

_“Steve.”_

Kevin’s hand froze around the door handle, his eyes going wide. It wasn’t Steve who had spoken. Instead, the one, simple syllable rang from the familiar, newly-slurred voice that he would have known anywhere. He turned around slowly, despite the screaming protest of every muscle, every nerve in his body, and his beating heart fell still at the sight before him. 

The look on Connor’s face didn’t need deciphering that time. It was a look Kevin knew immediately, because it was the same one he dreamed about every night since the day he woke up. The one where Connor’s memory would suddenly flood back to him in a miracle moment, bringing with it all the years of love and laughter and joy and pain they had shared, and closing the chasm between them. 

Except his gaze of recognition wasn’t aimed at Kevin. He wasn’t looking at Kevin at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, hooooooooooooly shit, I could not believe the incredibly kind response I got on the last chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who commented, and to everyone who has expressed some sort of investment in this story. I care about it a lot and I enjoy writing it more than I have anything in a while, so it means the world, truly, that you are enjoying it!
> 
> This chapter ended up getting away from me a little bit, in the sense that it probably could have been a bit shorter and included as part of a larger chapter, but for some reason my brain decided to expand upon a few moments until they became 5,000 words, so here we are. Hopefully that doesn't end up translating to a general wonkiness in pacing or anything, and if it does, just consider this a chapter of Drabble and Moments and we'll try again next time lol.

_Breathe. Just breathe._ It’s okay. You’re okay. One breath. Two. In, out. He could do this. He could _do this_.

Kevin’s knuckles drained white around the edge of the metal basin as he clutched the sink for support, his legs trembling from the effort of trying to stay upright. The stockroom wasn’t much more than a glorified closet, which did nothing to combat the feeling of the walls closing in around him, and the green apron cinched at his waist felt suddenly, oppressively constrictive.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

They were coming in quick, short gasps, fighting to pull enough air into his lungs and hopefully dissipate the heavy panic that seized his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, _please god just stop._ He still had three hours left in his shift, he couldn’t do this now, he needed to _get it the fuck together._ His elbows threatened to buckle under his weight, but he held tight, determined to push through until the room stopped spinning. He could do this. He’d done it a hundred times before. As it was, this was his third panic attack in as many days, so surely he should be a pro at containing them by now.

And, yeah, maybe it wasn't helpful that he hadn't been sleeping much the past few nights, or that when he did sleep, his sudden influx in nightmares or crushing loneliness put a quick end to it. _"You need to make an appointment with your therapist, bud,"_ Arnold kept reminding him, and he was right, but it didn't mean Kevin was in the right headspace to listen to him.

Maybe it would have helped if he had been able to visit Connor on his lunch break like he usually did. That always served as somewhat of a grounding force for him, even on the days when Connor was asleep or particularly out of it, it helped Kevin to relax just being next to him, sometimes reading, always listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall beneath the thin gown. Reminding himself that he had him back, even if not in the way he had expected.

But of course, he hadn’t done that today, because Connor had visitors. 

Visitor. Just the one. 

It had been three days since Steve arrived at Connor’s doorway, and he had come around at least once daily since then. Which Kevin _definitely_ didn’t have any strong feelings about, because that would make him pathetic and selfish and crazy and _jealous_ , and he didn’t want to be any of those things, even though he felt like all of them at once. 

He remembered Steve. He recognized him immediately. This was a good thing, the doctor had assured him. He had used words like ‘selective’ and ‘retrograde’ when he explained it, all the words that Kevin had already read and seen and heard. He emphasized, once again, that each memory triggered was like laying down another puzzle piece to complete the picture for Connor, and that couldn’t be a bad thing. 

Kevin was desperate to believe it. He _did_ believe it. It _was_ a good thing, of course it was. Connor remembered something, someone, from his past. That was objectively good news. It was objectively even better that it was someone he associated with good memories and safe familiarity and friendship and warmth and… and other things that Kevin didn’t allow himself to dwell on too long, because, again, he was _not_ going to be crazy about this. 

Connor and Steve were just kids when they had any spark of… _more_ between them. The friendship that remained into their teens had been strictly platonic, any flame of ‘unnatural thoughts’ stamped out by external forces that kept them at arm’s length from each other. It had been a childhood crush, a cute playground kiss and some angsty, middle-school pining that could only blossom in the likes of rural Utah, and nothing more. Kevin knew that. 

And still, it hurt. It _burned._ A deep, writhing flame that awakened in some part of Kevin he didn’t know existed and wished he could eradicate completely.

Because it wasn’t about their past at all, was it? 

It was about the way Connor had looked at him that night, face illuminated by the glow of the flickering television, eyes wide and filled with warm recognition. The way his face lit up when Kevin told him Steve was dropping by after work, and the way he smiled when Steve laughed out loud about a memory that only the two of them could share, and... and the way Connor slipped into the closest thing to comfortability Kevin had seen since he woke up. That was all because of Steve. _Steve_ made him feel safe in the way that Kevin wanted to. Steve was making him smile. 

And it was wrong. Kevin _knew_ he was in the wrong, but he couldn’t stop the thoughts that permeated his every waking moment. He felt like he was out of control, like he was spiraling into somebody he didn’t recognize, and frankly, someone he wasn’t too fond of. 

If he hadn’t stubbornly avoided his therapist all week, he might have had a safe place to unearth the ugly, green monster that had been trying to rear its head. It was hardly a subject he could broach with Connor, even if he wanted to. Connor was in the beginning stages of the very long process of relearning Kevin as a person, as a friend, and as a partner, and he was _not_ about to emblazon the impression of a jealous, possessive boyfriend as one of Connor’s first memories. 

That wasn’t Kevin. That had never been Kevin. 

Despite all the complicated, uncharacteristic feelings that buzzed beneath the surface of his skin, Kevin did maintain some semblance of logic and reasoning. He understood, he truly did, that Steve was the only familiar face in a sea of strangers that surrounded Connor right now. He was the _one_ person from his past that had bothered to show up for him at all, so any inherent attachment that formed between them was natural and beyond understandable. Kevin also understood that Steve Blade, despite everything, was a genuinely good guy, a good friend, and he had done nothing to deserve the bitterness Kevin was harboring beneath his polite facade. 

And really, at the end of the day, none of his selfish feelings mattered all that much, because Connor was showing signs of being happy again, even if it was just in the form of fleeting moments. Whatever the cause of it, as much as Kevin wished it could be him, was okay in his book. It would have to be.

The stockroom door pushed open and he jerked back from the sink, furiously swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. He nearly knocked over a stack of Venti cups in his effort to turn his back to whoever had walked in on his breakdown. 

“Kevin, we need you on the line.”

He sucked in one more deep breath, praying that, at the very least, he could pull it together enough for a masked response. 

“Okay!” His voice sounded unnaturally high, even to him. He cleared his throat. “I’ll… I’ll be right out.” 

His eyes fell shut when he heard two hesitant footsteps against the concrete floor, the door clicking shut. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” he choked, keeping his syllables curt and strained, raising a hand to emphasize his point. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

There was a moment of hesitation before his coworker responded, followed by the click of the door as they returned out to the floor. “O...kay.”

A long breath slid out between Kevin’s teeth once he was alone again. He allowed himself a moment to breathe as he braced his hands against the sink again, then forced his chin up to face his reflection in the small, distorted mirror on the wall. 

_Jesus._ He was a wreck. The skin around his eyes that wasn’t tinted red from crying was a deep purplish-gray, hollowed and drooping down toward his cheeks. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and there was a thin sheen of sweat over his face and neck. 

“Get it together,” he whispered to himself, his throat thick with saliva. 

He could hear the growing traffic of customers outside the stockroom door and knew he was out of time. Exhausted, he turned the knob for the cold water and let it run over his fingers before forming a cup with his palms pressed together at the sides, splashing a bit on his face. It didn’t do much to alter his appearance, he noted as he glanced back at his reflection, but it would have to be enough for now. 

Chest aching from far more than the overexertion of his lungs, Kevin wiped his wet hands against his apron, lifted his chin, and made his way out onto the floor, determined to make it through the day one step at a time. 

Three more hours. And then the rest.

* * *

“Hey Con, I know the doctors said no caffeine for a while, so I made you a decaf- _oh.”_ Kevin stopped short in the doorway, cup holder balanced in his hand, when he saw Steve still firmly planted at Connor’s side after his shift. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Steve greeted him easily, and Kevin tried, he really did, to mask his surprise with forced politeness, years of Mormonism finally coming in handy for once. 

“Sorry, if I had known you were still here, I would have brought you a coffee, too,” Kevin said.

“Oh, no. Don’t worry about it.” Steve smiled, standing from his chair. “I didn’t really expect to be here this long, anyway. Connor and I got to talking, and I guess time kind of got away from us.”

 _I’m sure it fucking did,_ Kevin didn’t say, caging his words behind a gritted smile. He cast a sidelong glance to Connor, who looked more tired than anything, but certainly not unhappy, as he exchanged a comfortable smile with his friend. Kevin’s heart flipped through a myriad of emotions before landing on the same bittersweet tightrope he had been walking for days. 

“Good.” Kevin nodded. “I’m glad you two are... catching up.”

“I should get going, though.” The hand that Steve laid on Connor’s shoulder sent a sharp pang through Kevin’s chest, but he choked down his own stupid resentment and pointedly looked away. “And _you_ should get some rest before your scan.”

Kevin didn’t miss the way Connor tensed at his words before nodding.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Steve clapped Kevin on the shoulder on his way out, too, asking if he needed anything and if he was doing okay. Which was objectively kind of him, and only made Kevin feel worse about the way his chest engulfed in flames. “I’m fine, thank you,” he said curtly, as friendly as he could muster. 

When they were alone, Kevin pushed the interaction as far out of his mind as he could, eager to take full advantage of the time with Connor he had been looking forward to all day. The smile that curled onto his lips was a little more natural that time as he crossed the room and extended the warm cup to his boyfriend. 

“I hope you still like pumpkin spice,” he said meekly. 

Connor hesitated for a moment before taking it. He held the cup between his palms, studying it. He brought it to his nose, sniffing the opening in the lid, and then, tentatively, to his lips. 

“Careful, it might be hot,” Kevin warned, watching him with both hands braced at his sides in case he needed help. But the first sip seemed to go down smoothly, Connor’s nose scrunching up a little before settling into a more content expression. 

“Any good?” Kevin asked, finding himself more invested in his response than he probably should be. 

Connor took another drink before he pulled the cup away, and Kevin felt himself melt a little at the spot of foam on his boyfriend’s upper lip. 

“It tastes like… Christmas,” he said.

Kevin’s heart nearly stilled in his chest. He blinked back the sudden, unwelcomed burn of tears at his eyes, only catching himself when Connor looked up at him, concerned. Kevin shook his head. “Sorry, just...” He cleared his throat, forcing down the rush of...something. “Sorry. You used to say that all the time, when you drank these.”

“Oh.” Connor held it out from him again, the same furrowed concentration etched into his brow that Kevin had seen him wear more and more often when things from his past were brought up. After a few seconds, he took another sip and nodded decisively, looking back to Kevin. 

“Well. It does.”

A surge of affection flooded Kevin’s chest, and he tried, so hard, not to think about the familiar taste of pumpkin spice on Connor’s lips.

He took the seat that Steve had previously occupied, relieved to be getting off his feet after a long and miserable shift. 

“Are you okay with me staying here?” He asked, suddenly hesitant once he was settled. “If you’ve had enough social interaction for one day, I can go home…?”

In the two seconds it took Connor to reply, Kevin was already imagining the all-out breakdown he would probably have on the train ride home if Connor were to, in fact, turn him away after the day he’d had. Luckily, he was spared by his boyfriend’s soft, tired voice.

“I don’t… I don’t mind if you stay.”

It was different from _‘I want you to stay,’_ a distinction Kevin’s brain was all-too eager to latch onto, but he was relieved nonetheless.

“Did you have a good time with your friend?” Kevin asked after a beat of silence, distrubed by the sheer power of will required to get the question out in what he hoped was a neutral tone. 

If Connor picked up on any less-than-pure undercurrents, he kept it to himself as he offered Kevin a half shrug. “It was good,” he slurred, breaking off into a yawn. “It’s… It’s kind of hard to talk for long amounts of time. Makes me tired. But it’s nice to… to see him.”

Kevin swallowed hard. “Good.”

He felt like he should follow up with something. He wanted to ask more about their time together and hear every detail of his day. He wanted to change the subject and never talk about Steve Blade again. He _so badly_ wanted Connor to just let him in, to talk to him about _something,_ and he also wanted to give into the lunacy, drop to his knees beside the bed, and ask something so truly and profoundly insane like _do you love him, are you in love with him, do you love_ me?

“Are you, um… Are you feeling ready for your MRI later?” He asked instead.

Connor shrugged again, setting his latte down on the table beside him. “I guess I have to be,” he said. “I’m a little nervous.”

The confession caught him a bit off guard. Connor was not usually one to express fear so openly. Kevin felt a deep surge of protectiveness wash over him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” He asked cautiously. “You know I would be more than happy to, and Danielle said it was fine as long as they screen me beforehand.”

He seemed to consider it for a moment, and Kevin bit his tongue, a mental game of tug of war ensuing over whether or not he should make the proposal to even call Steve back to sit with him through the procedure. It would undoubtedly make Kevin feel physically ill, but he would absolutely do it, no questions asked, if it would make Connor feel even a little less scared. 

“No, I think… I think I’ll be okay.”

Kevin nodded, pushing away the tiniest sting of both rejection and relief.

“Okay,” he smiled. “You’re gonna be great.”

* * *

It wasn’t until the technician placed a soft, squishy bulb in Connor’s hand that he started to regret his decision not to take Kevin up on his offer. The woman was kind and gentle as she closed his fingers around the object in his palm, smiling down at him on the narrow, white table. 

“Just give this a squeeze if you need help, and we will come get you out right away,” she told him. 

He nodded, wordlessly, just as he had at the rest of her instructions, his voice lost against the lump in his throat that he couldn’t quite swallow back. 

This gesture was surely intended as a means of comfort, and it should have served as such, but now all he could think about were the million reasons _why_ one might feel inclined to squeeze the device during the procedure. Flashes of the consent paperwork he had gone through with Kevin and Danielle appeared before his eyes, each one spiking his anxiety more than the last. Warnings about something called _‘tissue warming’_ and how he was supposed to tell the technicians immediately if he felt something, except how was he supposed to differentiate between a ‘tissue warming’ kind of heat and the regular kind of heat that happened when Connor was getting all anxious and his skin got red and blotchy and hot? What if he got it wrong and neglected to tell them and his skin fused with his muscles and then to his bones and--

“Connor?” The technician stared down at him with a look of concern. “Are you sure you don’t want your boyfriend to come in with you?”

 _Boyfriend._ A word he was still trying to get used to hearing in relation to himself. He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” She hesitated only a moment before she turned to the cabinet behind her, bringing back a small item wrapped in plastic. “You indicated on your paperwork that you were a bit claustrophobic. Sometimes patients find it helpful to wear an eye mask while they’re inside the machine.”

Connor glanced down at the thin fabric in her hands, mentally debating which would be a more terrifying sensation: deprivation of sight altogether, or staring up at a ceiling that was mere inches from his face, inside a tube his weakened muscles couldn’t climb out of if he tried. He closed his eyes as his heart rate began to pick up at the thought, fingers curling into the side of his gown -- and pointedly _not_ around the monitor in his other hand. 

“No mask,” he spoke tightly, but when her footsteps began to retreat back to the cabinet, his eyes shot open. “Wait! Um. Actually… actually, maybe I should.”

She smiled, kindly but in a knowing way that made Connor feel strangely embarrassed. Nonetheless, she retrieved the mask from the packaging and brought it back to him. “I’m going to slide this over your eyes and behind your head, okay?”

“Okay.”

Her hands were small and careful, and he felt the way she worked to avoid the healing scar on his scalp as she pulled the strap around his head. He closed his eyes just as the fabric was pulled over them, and when he opened them seconds later, he was sheathed in darkness. _Oh, god._ Maybe he should have gone without the mask after all. 

It only got worse when a pair of heavy-duty earmuffs were placed over his head, like the kind his uncle made him wear the one (and thankfully only) time he had dragged him to a shooting range as a kid, blocking out nearly all the sound in the room. Wait, he remembered that. There was an almost crystal clear memory of the day for the briefest of seconds behind his eyelids before he felt it being tugged away, pushed below some foggy surface, where he could only make out vague shapes and colors, but the faces went blurry. Like the memory Steve had brought up about the swing set on their elementary playground. Or when he thought about his mom.

He only jumped a little when a hand landed on his shoulder, accompanied by a muffled voice. “We are going to slide you in now, okay?”

Once again, he nodded. There was a moment of stillness in the pause that followed, and then the surface beneath him whirred to life, a slight vibration as the table moved forward. The hand on his shoulder grounded him until it suddenly disappeared, which meant he was far enough into the large, white tube that the technician could no longer reach him. The thought made him want to vomit. 

The bed came to a stop after a few seconds and he sucked in a deep breath, the feeling of isolation crashing over him hard. He hated the way his own breathing sounded so loud in his head, the noise-cancelling padding around his ears creating his own personal echochamber. He flexed his free hand at his side, trying to force himself to relax. 

A faint, staticky voice sounded in his right headphone. “Alright, Connor, we are going to take this one step at a time. I’ll tell you every time something new is going to happen.” He nodded, feeling immediately stupid when he realized she probably couldn’t see him. “You’re going to hear some noises all around you in just a moment. They’re gonna be pretty loud, okay?”

The breath he pulled in that time was not a full one, and he found it nearly impossible to keep his hands steady. He flinched violently when the noises began; a sharp, rhythmic buzzing, like an alarm, which felt quite appropriate for the signals of panic being sent to his brain. It _was_ loud. His breathing picked up. He didn’t know why he was so scared, especially after she had given him ample warning, but logic and reasoning were up against the rare combination of both sensory overload and deprivation at the same time, and it was clear which one was winning out. 

The sharp noises paused for a moment before shifting to a new pattern, a faster and louder one, and his eyes fluttered open against the fabric of the eye mask. Small fragments of light peaked through the porres material, and he could only make out a vague whiteness beyond the tiny holes. It wasn’t enough to make out hard ceiling of the MRI tube, but it was just enough to allow his mind to conjure a vivid mental image of it, closing in and in and in and--

He hadn’t realized he was squeezing the bulb in his hand, or that his breathing had escalated into full hyperventilation, or that he was being moved, until the blindfold was abruptly removed, harsh overhead lights flooding his vision. He blinked against it, desperately trying to gain control of his breathing. The tech was standing over him, speaking words that he couldn’t quite make out over the ringing in his ears. She tore her eyes away from him just long enough to shout something across the room, and moments later, there was another presence at his side. 

“Hey.” It was the first word to break through the fog. Just barely. He turned his head to lock into a familiar pair of eyes. They were gazing down at him, wide and scared and… wet? Red. Sad? Was Kevin sad?

It was hardly a good time for a full analysis. Without thinking, without any conscious effort of his own, his hand thrust out toward the familiar figure, fumbling with his shirt, his arm, until finally he found a warm, soft hand. Kevin squeezed back immediately, no hesitation, even bringing his second hand up to clasp on top of them. 

“I’m right here,” Kevin said, the sound in the room slowly beginning to drain back into Connor. He focused on the steady sensation of the thumb rubbing back and forth over his wrist, trying to ground himself. “Just breathe, baby. You’re okay.”

He squeezed his hand tighter, and eventually, he was able to follow that one, simple instruction. _Breathe._ Slower, and calmer, and steadier. 

“Okay, Connor,” the tech spoke gently from his other side. “Why don’t we give you a few minutes to catch your breath before we try again, yeah?”

Kevin stiffened beside him, something in his posture shifting, and Connor swore he felt him take a step closer, almost leaning over him. “You’re not putting him back in there.”

The voice was firm, almost aggressive in a way that was so uncharacteristic coming from the man who Connor had only heard speak in the softest, gentlest tones. He was different now, his eyes hard as he leveled with the technician. He squeezed Connor’s hand tighter. 

“We should reschedule for another day.”

“It’s his call, of course, but we can always talk to the doctor--”

“N-No.” Both pairs of eyes drew back to Connor at his breathless objection, concern in one, confusion in the other. “I can… I can do it.”

Kevin leaned in closer, his thumb smoothing over his skin once again. “Con, are you sure?” he asked gently. “You don’t have to do anything right now if it’s too much for you. You’re in charge.”

He allowed himself a moment to hold the intense eye contact, taking in the familiar tugging sensation that seemed to arise more and more often in Kevin’s presence. It was similar to what he had felt when he held the box of Pop-Tarts between his hands, his stranger-friend looking on expectantly. Like there was a word he was grasping for, right on the tip of his tongue and yet somehow just beyond his reach. It always left him with a pang of guilt, of emptiness, when the moment passed and the hint of a memory faded, but sometimes there was a strange and beckoning warmth that remained in the aftermath, like a ray of sunlight spilling onto his skin just before he was cast into shadow again. 

With most of the people he had been introduced to, the warmth dissipated as quickly as it came. With Kevin, though, it lingered and lingered and lingered. 

“I’m sure,” he breathed. 

“Okay.” Kevin smiled down at him, though it looked more forced than he was sure he meant to let on. He nodded briefly to the tech before looking down at Connor again. “I’m going to be right outside the whole time, okay? I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

The second he released his hand and turned his back, another jolt of panic shot through Connor’s whole body. “Wait!” He tried to sit up as he called out to him, immediately recognizing his mistake as his atrophied muscles rejected the effort, his head and shoulder collapsing back onto the pillow. 

Fortunately, Kevin turned around anyway, instantly back at his side. “What is it?” 

“Could you…” Connor looked hesitantly from him to the tech and back before falling away entirely, his face burning red. “Could you stay with me this time?”

The brief moment of pause after his question filled Connor’s chest with a panic of an entirely different breed, but when he mustered the courage to seek Kevin’s eyes again, rejection was the last thing he found there. The moisture he had detected before was unmistakable now.

“Of course, I’ll…” he choked a bit, disguising it by clearing his throat. “I’ll stay with you.”

They kept their fingers intertwined as the tech checked, and double checked, and triple checked with Connor that he was okay to continue. They stayed that way as the ear muffs were placed back over his head, the blindfold slipped into place. It wasn’t until the bulb was placed back into his hand that Kevin was forced to pull away. 

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to hold hands while you’re in the machine,” the tech apologized. “Due to the nature of your injury, you have to go in head first to get a proper image.”

Connor nodded, even as his heart sank in his chest, but Kevin spoke up for him. 

“Can I, um… I don’t know.” Kevin’s voice took on an unfamiliar shyness, a far jump from the protective tone Connor had heard only moments before. “Can I hold his ankle or something?”

There was a moment of silence from beyond his ear muffs and Connor nearly laughed. And then he did laugh, just a little, because maybe he was a little delirious from hyperventilation, or maybe just because it was such a ridiculous thing to suggest and a strange mental image to conjure. Still, he couldn’t deny the immediate relief he felt at the idea of maintaining contact during the procedure. 

“If it’s okay with Connor, it’s okay with me,” the tech replied. 

“Connor?” 

He nodded against the thin pillow beneath his head. “Yeah, that’s… that’s okay with me.”

Slowly, Connor felt Kevin’s fingers, soft and tentative, wrap around his ankle where his skin met the thick, cotton sock the hospital had issued him.

“Connor? You ready?” the tech asked.

He drew in a grounding breath, focusing only on the feeling of contact. “Yes.”

His breathing was shallow when he slid back into the machine, but this time, when the noises began, so did a soothing pattern of movement of a thumb across his ankle, back and forth, and it was just enough to keep him breathing. Black fabric. A rubber bulb. One soft hand. Darkness and darkness and darkness... and a sliver of warm sun.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I'm not dead and neither is this story. In fact, I think about it all the time, but unfortunately being back at work has not been great for my fanfic writing capabilities. But I worked really hard on finally getting this chapter to a place I can be semi-happy with, so I hope you enjoy it too, and hope that it was worth the wait! I'll try not to make the hiatus quite so long next time. 
> 
> Also, I posted this on Tumblr a while back, but I've since added some songs so I'll post it here, too. I made a playlist for this story that helps me get in the right headspace when I'm writing and/or daydreaming about it. Maybe you'll find it a fun companion to the story as well:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7zZviprJGCtXMJiqvMr4z8?si=aFN4fwZ0Q92VOFUep5z0ZQ

_Dear Connor,_

_You walked for the first time today._

_I couldn’t be there._

_You know how badly I wanted to be, but I had to work. They had already roped me into pulling a double by the time your physical therapy appointment had been scheduled, and we really could use the extra money. I know you’re not upset with me. You told me so. But it doesn’t mean I don’t feel like shit over it._

_At least Steve was able to be there. I really am grateful to him. I wouldn’t have wanted you to go it alone._

_Anyway, this isn't about me. This is about you, and how fucking proud I am of you for taking this step (literally). I could tell the restlessness was setting in after all this time of being confined to one room, one bed. I really try hard not to think of you in terms of “Old Connor” and “New Connor” for my own sanity and about a billion other reasons, but I can’t deny it’s a bit of a small comfort to see that you’ve retained some similarities to your past self; like the inability to sit in one place for too long without going a little stir-crazy._

_But I know you were scared, too. Even if you tried to hide it. The look of horror was pretty apparent as Dr. Smith sat down with us and explained the extent of your muscular atrophy. People who were in comas much longer than yours have gone on to regain full physical function, but six weeks of full immobility was hardly something to sneeze at. He warned us it wouldn’t be easy._

_You’re going to do amazing, though, I know it. You’ve been through so much terrible shit in your life, and you always bounce back. Your resilience is one of the most beautiful things about you (and there are so fucking many). Maybe you don’t remember enough right now to believe me, so you’re just going to have to take my word for it. You’re strong, and you’re going to be okay._

_For now, we will just take things one day at a time, and let the future worry about itself._

_Hey, look at that. Finally, a bible verse proving itself useful. Maybe there’s hope of reinstatement yet._

_(Just kidding.)_

_Nakupenda,_

_K._

* * *

“My name is Connor McKinley. I am twenty-five years old. I live in New York City. I am... I _was_ an actor.” He took a deep breath, blinking at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. “I have a boyfriend. His name is Kevin Price.”

Connor’s wrists began to ache under his weight and he carefully readjusted his grip on the edge of the sink. His palms were slick against the porcelain, knees already buckling slightly from the strain of supporting him, but he held strong, determined to stand on his own just a little longer. 

It was the first time he had been able to go to the bathroom alone, without Kevin or Steve or the nurses hovering over him, offering -- insisting -- to help. Even though he knew Kevin was right outside the door, waiting for any sign of distress on his end, this was the closest thing to autonomy, to _personal space_ he had felt since he woke up, and he wasn’t about to squander the rare opportunity by letting himself fall. Briefly, his eyes flickered to the silver button on the wall. _‘Assistance Needed,’_ it read. He didn’t need assistance. He didn’t want it. He could stand on his own.

Physical therapy had been… not great, so far. He’d only done four sessions, and both Kevin and Steve were quick to remind him that progress was going to take time, but he was so damn tired of being patient. He hated being so physically helpless. Despised it. He had thought that starting physical therapy would be his ticket out of that feeling, but somehow it had only exacerbated it further, serving as a humiliating parade of his own physical weaknesses. The first time trying to walk felt like the kind of running you did in a dream, where your legs didn’t belong to your own body and were stuck in some deepy, sticky mud that wanted to swallow you whole every time you tried to move. By the end, he was sticky with sweat, his hospital-issued t-shirt clinging to his skin as he tried to catch his breath. 

He felt pathetic. 

Other people who had been immobilized in a hospital bed far longer than time he had have gone on to regain full muscular function. That was what his therapist reminded him every time he struggled with a new movement, or stumbled, or fell. But he wasn’t other people, and he had no interest in comparing notes. He just wanted some part of his autonomy back. It didn’t seem fair to have both his mind _and_ his body robbed from him at once. 

He had only taken one major fall so far, and it _wasn’t_ even all that major, but it just had to happen on the one day Steve came to his session with him, just to add to the humiliation of it all. He had been quick to rush to Connor’s side as he held himself up on shaky hands and knees, face and ears burning red as he stared down at the blue padding underneath him. Connor was even quicker to reassure him that he was _fine._ Which might have been more convincing if it hadn’t taken both Steve and his therapist to get him back on his feet. His only saving grace was that Kevin had not been there to witness it, too, though he certainly made up for it as soon as he received word. 

He lifted his eyes back to the mirror, leveling his own gaze. Chin up. Elbows locked. His hair was the longest he remembered it ever being, even with the uneven patch toward the back, along the line where he knew his staples had been. He wanted to reach up and run his fingers over the spot, but he wasn’t sure he could maintain his hold with just one arm. 

“My friends are Chris and James. Arnold and N… Naba. Nabulungi.” His next words came out weaker, quieter, after a moment of pause: “I was… attacked. I was in a coma for six weeks. I am awake now.” He swallowed thickly before starting over. “My name is Connor McKinley. I am twenty-five years--”

“Connor?” A soft rap on the door behind him startled him. “Everything okay in there?”

His eyes fell shut, and the briefest flash of irritation burned in his chest before he had the chance to expel it. 

The doctor had warned him about that; the mood swings, the irritability. He assured him that the unexpected, often irrational, bouts of anger were not his fault, and that it was his TBI talking, not him. Connor desperately wanted to believe that, but the injuries were in his brain, right? And a brain was what made up the whole of a person, so even if it was _‘just’_ the TBI that made him do and say and _feel_ those things, how was Connor supposed to know where the injuries ended and he, as a person, began? To be honest, it felt like they were one and the same most of the time. Maybe this was just who he was now; this angry, irritable person who had to take deep breaths and count down from ten to keep from snapping at the people who were bending over backwards to take care of him. 

He hadn’t always been like this, he was almost sure of it. Even though most of his memories from _before_ were dark and hazy around the edges, entire missing pieces here or there in the middle, or in the instances of the more recent years, gone altogether, he was almost positive he didn’t remember being so _angry._

_My sweet, smiley boy._ The memory of his mother’s voice thudded heavy in his chest. She had called him that, he was almost sure, even if some of the details of her face went a little bit blurry when he tried too hard to concentrate. That scared him, maybe more than anything else he had forgotten. Then again, given everything Kevin had told him about what happened with his parents, perhaps the fading memory of his mother’s face had nothing to do with his head injury at all. 

Tears brimmed the eyes of the man staring back at him in his reflection.

_Breathe in, 2, 3, 4…_

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he choked. 

_Out, 2, 3, 4…_

“My name is Connor McKinley.” His chin quivered this time as he spoke, each word shaking out between his teeth. “I am twenty-five years old. I live in New York City…”

* * *

_Dear Connor,_

_I underestimated just how scary it would be when it came time to move you out of the ICU. I know logically it’s not a big deal. There are still nurses running in and out of your room all the time, even if they’re not Danielle. Even if Danielle assured me a hundred times that she was right upstairs and could be down in a minute’s notice. I did manage to sneak in a hug with her before we went. She told me I was being dramatic, even as she hugged me back, but you know… I just wanted to make sure she understood just how much her kindness has meant to me over the past few months._

_I know there’s still such a long way to go, especially in terms of your big picture recovery, but something about the move just made everything about your impending release so excruciatingly real. I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t scare the shit out of me._

_But I’m trying not to think about that too much until I have to._

_It’s kind of nice, so far, though. You’re doing really great holding your own. Your room is a little bit bigger now, and the view is much better from this window. Watching your eyes light up when you stare out at the city is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I wish I could tell you every time. I try not to stare. I’ve been trying to be mindful about… my affections? I guess? It’s hard to know exactly where your head is at, with us and with everything, but I’m aware of the reality that our relationship is something new for you and I never want to make you uncomfortable. It’s tough to look at it from that angle when being with you -- touching you, holding you, talking to you -- is as natural as breathing after all these years. For me, anyway._

_~~Sometimes I feel like--~~ _

_~~I’m really afraid that--~~ _

_I just... worry sometimes._

_I don’t know. That maybe you’re a different person now. God, there’s no good way to say that, is there? I swear I don’t mean it the way it sounds. But I’m afraid that I’m somehow imposing myself on you, on the new version of you who woke up one day and never had any say in the person you’re in a relationship with._

_What if that person isn’t me?_

_What if the new you doesn’t want to be my boyfriend at all and now you just feel stuck with this basket case of a stranger who crowds your bedside and holds your hand while you sleep and insists on being a part of your life?_

_I don’t know what to do with these thoughts when I have them. I haven’t even told them to my therapist, because saying them out loud is so fucking scary, Con. The idea of losing you hurts more than I can explain. I spent so much time these past couple months thinking I was about to lose you for good, and getting you back was the single greatest gift I’ve ever been given, even if it wasn’t in the way I expected._

_But what if it’s true? What if the part of you who wanted to be with me is gone forever?_

_I don’t know what to do with that._

_I don’t know what to do._

* * *

It was late by the time the Uber pulled up in front of their apartment, and even later by the time Kevin managed to get a very wobbly Connor safely up three flights of stairs. The journey had taken an obvious toll on his boyfriend; a fact that was hard to ignore as he sagged against Kevin’s side, breathing heavy as Kevin fumbled to retrieve the keys from his pocket. 

“You’re alright,” Kevin murmured between his own labored breaths, one arm slung around his waist to keep him steady. He tried not to think about how thin he felt under his touch. He also tried not to think about how this was the most body-to-body contact they’d had in months. If he closed his eyes, for just a second, he could imagine another universe where the embrace was under much different circumstances; where Connor’s arm around his back wasn’t just to keep himself upright, and the familiar scent of his hair so close to Kevin wasn’t laced with the sterile scent of hospital. 

It took a little more concentration than it would have on a normal day, between the effort of half-carrying Connor and the general anxiety of being home, _together,_ for the first time in months, but Kevin eventually got the door unlocked. He propped it open with his elbow, and Connor unlatched from his side, blinking at the dark apartment in front of him. 

“After you,” Kevin encouraged.

He helped Connor over the threshold and locked the door behind them, using those few seconds facing away to gather some kind of composure. The beautiful, miraculous reality of Connor being home was combated by the equally steadfast truth of Connor being in Kevin’s care alone now, and Kevin being completely out of his depth. There were no doctors, no nurses worrying over him around the clock. No monitors to give concrete assurance that Connor’s body was holding up as it was supposed to. Just two young men, lost in entirely separate directions and clinging to each other to stay upright. Connor was still so fragile in ways that stretched far beyond his physical limitations, so unsure of the world around him. It was an immense pressure on Kevin’s shoulders, to be the sole caregiver in guiding him through these murky waters.

When he turned around, he found Connor leaning most of his weight against the back of the couch, his eyes unreadable as he scanned the room, taking in the surroundings that he should have known like the back of his hand. Kevin took a moment, just one, to acknowledge the sight of Connor fucking McKinley standing there, alive, in their living room, propped up against the couch they bought together. All the numerous complications aside, they had already made it one step further than Kevin, at one point, thought they ever would. And that was worth something.

“Home, sweet home,” Kevin spoke softly, his fingers circling nervously around his own wrist as he watched him from across the room. 

Connor’s gaze traced the full parameter of the kitchen and living room, grazing over nameless paintings and antique furniture pieces they had collected together from thrift shops and farmers markets over the years, before dropping down to where his hand rested on the back of the couch. He dragged his fingertips over the faded-green, knitted blanket draped over the back, studying the texture with that familiar look he sometimes got in his eye. 

“It’s from our mission,” Kevin found himself explaining to fill the silence. “You always kind of thought it was ugly, but it was on the old couch in the mission hut, and… well, we spent a lot of time there, in the beginning. You and me. It only felt right that we took it home with us in the end.”

He watched Connor’s face as he continued to rub the soft knitted patterns between his fingers for a few more seconds. If it weren’t for all the dozens of false starts and plummeting disappointments he had already recovered from, he might have fooled himself into thinking Connor was about to have a breakthrough. As always, though, the vague flicker of recognition faded from his eyes as soon as it came, and Connor lifted his eyes back to Kevin with a tight smile and a nod. 

Kevin cleared his throat, trying to pull them both out of the weighted moment. “So.” He rubbed his palms over his jeans. “Are you, um… are you hungry? I can order us something. Or, I think we still have a few cans of soup I can heat up?”

Connor shook his head and Kevin felt himself deflate a little in defeat. Food was easy. Food was something solid, something tangible that he could do to feel like he was helping when he was otherwise so lost on how to do so. 

“I think…” Connor finally spoke, and Kevin perked up, immediately attentive to whatever guidance he was about to offer. “I think I want… I mean, is it okay if I take a shower instead?”

Kevin blinked, trying to shake off the strangeness of having Connor essentially ask permission to use the shower in _their_ home. “Yeah, of course. You can do whatever you want, Con. This is as much your place as it is mine.”

“Okay.” There was that tight smile again. He tapped his fingers against the edge of the couch, looking around again. “Where’s the um…?”

_“Oh.”_ The realization struck him, and Kevin added another item to the list of things to be more conscious of now that he was home. Of course he didn’t know where the shower was. “Yeah, sorry. Um, the bathroom is just in here, through the bedroom.”

He led him there, hating how stiff and awkward their interactions felt within the bounds of the one place everything was supposed to feel normal. It wasn’t as if he had come into this anticipating any kind of normalcy, but every little moment like that one was a stark reminder of how utterly fucked up things were, and it stung.

There was a brief but intense moment of awkwardness when they both found themselves in the tiny bathroom, looking at each other with matching tight expressions. Connor probably knew what he was thinking, but Kevin wasn’t sure what the right move was. A feeling he was getting quite used to. 

“Do you think you can, um…?” Kevin scratched the back of his neck with one hand, gesturing vaguely in his direction with the other. “Do you need help?”

Connor looked away, and Kevin felt a deep swell of sadness fill his chest as his boyfriend’s ears burned red. He didn’t begrudge him, not one bit, but there was a real moment of cruel clarity in the realization that Connor was uncomfortable being undressed in front of him. It made total sense. Of course it did. It was just especially hard for some reason to separate the person in front of him from the person he had seen naked almost more than he had seen him clothed. It wasn’t anything sexual (Kevin didn’t even have the mental energy to get into _that_ particular conundrum right now). It was about the lack of comfort and familiarity that had been lost between the two of them, after so much time spent building it together. 

Connor was, much to Kevin’s dismay, always very self-conscious about his body. It didn’t take a genius to understand that much of it stemmed from the way he was treated in school and the god-awful, fucked up palace of self-hatred his parents and the church had the audacity to call _‘therapy.’_ It had been a challenge for him to overcome that, and Kevin had spent so much of the past few years trying to get him to see himself for the stunning, gorgeous, beautiful man that he was. It had even begun to work, he thought. Their sex life had been… well, vibrant. Better than ever, in fact, up until the night their world went dark. 

And now they were back to square one. 

“I-I think I can… can do it.” Connor winced as he stuttered over his words. Kevin had noticed that his speech issues worsened when he was feeling particularly distressed by something. 

“Okay,” Kevin said softly, taking a step back out of the room. “Just, um. Let me know if you need anything.”

Kevin made his way into the living room, hovering anxiously until he heard the spray of water start up from behind the door. Only then did he allow himself to collapse onto the couch, eyes falling shut, head tilted back against the same blanket that Connor had studied only moments before. He tried to allow himself the moment to just...decompress, To feel the full weight of the journey home and the strangeness that enveloped them now that they were here and just… all of it. He felt in over his head, more than ever before, and somewhere under all that, very lucky. 

When he opened his eyes, he glanced through the open doorway of the bedroom, remembering in vivid, chaotic detail the night he had fallen to his knees in desperate, terrified prayer; a prayer that had been answered, as opposed to all the ones in the past few years that had been callously ignored. 

A humorless snort bubbled out of him as his eyes fluttered to the ceiling, or past it, rather, up to some invisible force in the sky he had all but written off after all these years. It seemed like just his luck, to have finally made his mind up after a years-long grapple with his faith, only for the man upstairs, his first friend and faceless enemy, to throw him back to square one by swooping in to answer his last desperate plea that night.

He was spared from the momentary crisis of faith by the muffled thump on the other side of the wall, and he was on his feet before Connor could even make a sound. 

Kevin’s knuckles tapped against the door, his ear pressed to the wood in an attempt to make out any sound from the other side. “Connor?” He called, his voice higher than normal. “Are you alright?” A beat of silence, then he knocked again, his worry inflating with each passing second. “Connor, please answer me.”

He was seconds away from busting down the door in a blind panic when he heard a soft click and the doorknob turned under his palm. Kevin’s eyes lowered as the door creaked open to find Connor on the tile, his kneeling frame barely held upright by a trembling grasp on the doorframe. He was down to his briefs and blushing so hard his chest blossomed with small, red patches. 

“I fell.” He explained before Kevin had the chance to ask, eyes carefully averted. “Sorry, I’m fine, I just… lost my balance.”

The tangle of grey sweatpants still looped around one ankle filled in the gaps in his explanation and Kevin nodded slowly, stepping into the bathroom dropping into a kneel beside him. He reached out with one hand to turn off the spray of water, the silence that crashed over them in the absence of the sound making the air even thicker. Connor let his hips fall to one side, pulling his legs out from under him with what looked to be a considerable effort. He curled forward, trying to remove the offending piece of clothing from around his angle, putting stress on the abdominal muscles Kevin knew were still incredibly weakened from weeks of inactivity. 

“Can I?” Kevin half-extended an arm toward him, unable to watch him struggle any longer. He was already pink from more than the embarrassment, his breathing labored, and Kevin could make out the way his muscles shook as he continued to push his body just a little further than it was ready for.

But Connor pulled away, blinking hard in frustration. “I can do it,” he grumbled, the slightest slur detectable in his words. But all Kevin could hear was the sting of irritation. He let his hand drop. 

“It’s okay to accept help, you know,” he spoke softly, treading carefully around Connor’s noticeably aggressive mood swing. “I _want_ to help you. However I can.”

“I shouldn’t need help with this.” Connor tugged on the material, once, twice, jerking his foot just enough for it to slide over his heel and break free. The smallest hint of a satisfied smile pulled at his lips just before his back collapsed against the sink behind him, exhausted.

Kevin let out a long sigh, careful to moderate how it sounded coming out. He slipped his legs out from under him, leaning in a sitting position against the opposite wall. “Right. It’s like, suck it up already, Con. It’s been two weeks.”

Connor froze, looking up at him with almost-comical horror. Kevin’s smile dropped. 

“I--sorry. That was... I was joking.” He held his breath and dropped his eyes to his lap, half expecting to trigger another downswing. But his eyes flickered up at the quiet snort of laughter he received, deflating with relief. He chuckled nervously in response, testing the waters. Connor’s posture appeared to relax just slightly, even as he ran a hand through his hair.

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” he said, a little stiffly. “I know you’re just trying to help. I really don’t mean to be so short with you.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Kevin said sincerely, the forgiveness rising up in him immediately. “The doctor told us that you would have some trouble with your, uh… the mood swings and stuff. They said that it’s normal. I don’t hold it against you.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it,” Connor muttered softly, then more directly, “I hate feeling so helpless.”

Kevin frowned. “I know.” He opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it, pausing for a moment to chew on the inside of his cheek. After another beat of silence, he closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “Look, I uh. I know you don’t remember this, but… just know that there were plenty of times where I was the one in your position.” 

Connor looked up with questioning eyes, and Kevin shook his head again, smiling slightly. 

“Well, I guess not exactly your position, but…” He stopped to swallow back the very inconvenient swell of emotion in his throat, letting out a humorless laugh instead. “Well, suffice it to say I felt pretty fucking helpless, too. For a long time.” He cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the slight tremor. “Anyway, you always did your best to assure me that I wasn’t being a burden, even when it was hard to believe you.”

Kevin blinked softly as the words fell out of him, something clicking suddenly into place. He never understood, back then, how Connor could possibly _not_ see him in the same light that he saw himself when he was at his lowest; as a burden, as some kind of deadweight he was forcing him to carry around. But here, now, looking at his boyfriend, even half-dressed and exhausted on their bathroom floor, he couldn’t imagine thinking any of those things about him. He couldn’t imagine feeling anything but love. Maybe it was possible that it had always been the same when the situation was reversed. 

Connor watched him with a careful expression, and Kevin could only pray that he wouldn’t press further about the details of the half-story Kevin had divulged. After the physically and emotionally laborious day they’d had, he wasn’t sure he could handle That Conversation right now. But he would have it, if that was what Connor needed. 

Fortunately, he left it at a slow, unsure nod, accompanied by an attempt at a smile, which Kevin graciously returned. 

“Believe me,” Kevin said. “Not that any of this is done out of obligation -- it’s definitely not -- but let’s just say I owe you one. Or two. Or a thousand. Okay?”

Connor nodded again, a little more sure this time. “Okay.”

Kevin let some of the tension slide out of him with a long breath, trying, blindly, to navigate them forward. “Do you still want to shower? We can try to figure something out. The drain on the tub is busted, and we put in a work order for it ages ago but… maybe I can bring a chair or something--?”

“Could you…” A small voice stopped his rambling short, and Kevin looked up, eager to follow whatever direction Connor was willing to offer. “Maybe you could help me?”

Kevin blinked. “Help you in the…?” He regretted his tone of voice immediately as the misinterpretation fell over Connor’s face immediately. 

“Never mind,” Connor spoke quickly. “I know it’s… that’s kind of a weird thing to ask.”

“No!” Kevin shot back immediately, pulling back when Connor’s eyes widened slightly at his outburst. “I… No, it’s not weird at all, Connor.” he assured him, pushing himself to a standing position. “I can… yeah, of course, I can help you.”

Connor peered up at him through copper lashes and Kevin extended a hand, his stomach erupting in a cloud of butterflies at the feel of Connor’s sliding into his, accepting the gesture. Kevin pulled him to his feet, bracing a hand just above the small of his back once he was standing to make sure he stayed that way. Only then did it really land, the reality of their predicament; the sudden awareness -- for both of them, judging by the stiffness in his boyfriend’s posture -- that Connor was clad in just the low-hanging, gray boxer-briefs that Kevin had packed for him in his _“going home”_ bag.

It was, of course, a body that Kevin knew almost as intimately as his own, one he had seen a thousand times before in various states of undress, but he was keenly aware that it was not the same for Connor, who was essentially standing bare in front of a stranger. Connor, who was operating inside the mind of someone much closer to the shy, self-conscious boy Kevin had met six-thousand miles across the ocean, had never undressed in front of anyone, and was now standing toe-to-toe with someone he knew, logically, had seen all of him, but had no memory of it himself. Much like every other step in this hell-journey Connor had been forced on, Kevin couldn’t begin to imagine how overwhelming this was for him. How brave he had to be to accept his help. He needed to account for that, above all. 

Quick to avert from the sudden tension, Kevin cleared his throat and skirted past Connor, careful not to touch him, focusing his attention on the shower. He started up the spray again and kept one hand under the water to test as he turned the knobs, trying to find the perfect balance of hot and cold that he knew Connor liked best. 

When he turned around moments later to ask him to feel the temperature, he found Connor deep in thought, looking down at himself with one thumb hooked uncertainly in his elastic waistband.

“Hey,” Kevin spoke softly, and Connor’s head jerked up as if he had been caught. “You don’t have to…” he gestured vaguely toward his lower half. It was his turn to blush. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

His thumb slipped out as his hand fell to his side, the elastic snapping back against the skin of his hip with a soft _thwap._ He met Kevin’s eyes for a fleeting moment before he tore them down to the floor again, raising his arms to cross over his body. “I… I think I wanna keep them on,” he slurred. 

Kevin nodded, even though Connor wasn’t looking at him, and pulled his hand out of the warm spray. “Then they stay on.”

Kevin’s stayed on, too. He would have gladly, _unflinchingly,_ taken the entirety of the shower in his full jeans-and-t-shirt combo and hell, even his shoes and socks and a fucking _parka_ if it meant making Connor more comfortable. Fortunately, he was assured that all of that wouldn’t be necessary. Still, he kept on his own boxers and a t-shirt, no objections.

They were both a bit fumbly at first, trying to figure out the logistics of just how it would work. It was stiff and formal and awkward, and mostly it was slippery. Kevin held tightly to Connor as he gained his footing on the tub, fully conscious of the placement of his hands and eyes. 

Their first attempt involved Kevin holding most of Connor’s weight, back-to-chest, as Connor tried to wash himself. It only took a few seconds for Kevin to see that his grip was starting to hurt Connor’s middle, and wasn’t very efficient when he switched to holding him under his arms. He could feel the tremor of his boyfriend’s muscles against his own body, heavier even than it had been on the journey up the stairs, and knew he was struggling to stay on his feet much longer.

Tentatively, and with a verbal reassurance that he could say no, Kevin eventually suggested that, perhaps, Connor turn to face him and hold onto his shoulders while Kevin did the washing. 

To his surprise, Connor agreed.

Kevin was nothing but respectful, dutiful even, in keeping his eyes just over Connor’s shoulder, focusing instead on the bit of grime in the space between the tiles and praying to _God_ that his traitor body would not choose _now_ to express just how much it missed having a half-naked Connor McKinley in such close proximity. How much he missed the copper hair that clung to his body under the spray of water or the freckles that painted every inch of his skin, disappearing under his waistband or-- No, he wouldn't think of that now.

He asked permission before touching him each time, and took extra care to not let his hands make direct contact with skin as much as he could, keeping it atop the rag that he slid over his body. 

And when his legs started to give out, his bare feet losing traction just enough to slip out from under him on the floor of the tub, Kevin caught him every time. There was a flash of genuine fear, of exhaustion and vulnerability in Connor’s voice as he clung to Kevin’s shoulders, arms around his neck to keep from slipping again. His words were soft and barely audible against the wet skin of Kevin’s neck: “Don’t let me fall.”

Kevin wrapped his arms a little tighter, tucking his head indulgently into the closest thing to a hug they had shared in far too long.

“I won’t let you fall,” he promised. _I won’t ever let you fall._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading (and waiting patiently for the update lol). I feed off of your comments like an actual IV drip of serotonin, so if you enjoyed it, please feel free to leave a little note and make my day :') As I said before, I'll try to work harder on getting the next chapter out a bit faster.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, I kind of kept my promise about not making you wait quite as long! Look at me go! But for real, I appreciate your patience with me and my slow updating. On that note, today is the start of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and I've decided to use this time to really focus on my two active WIPs. While I may not be posting the new chapters as soon as I finish them, I will hopefully be building a log of chapters this month so I can be a bit more consistent through to the end. 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is a pretty long one, especially for this story's standard so far. Things just started pouring out of me this weekend and I couldn't help it. So buckle up for that. I really hope you enjoy it.

After double (and triple) checking for reassurance that he was alright, Kevin had left him to his own devices in the bathroom. It was upon his own request. Connor needed a minute to regroup after… all that. 

With one hand braced against the sink, Connor shimmied out of his shower-soaked boxers, letting them fall to the tile with a light _slap,_ and wrapped the towel Kevin had laid out for him around his waist. Even that much exertion left him a bit winded, so he shifted back against the sink, letting it hold most of his weight as he tried to settle himself. 

The shower had been… a lot. 

Even if he was constantly assured by reminders all around him that he was a happily out-and-proud gay man in a loving relationsihp, it didn’t mean he was having an easy time catching up to it. In his reality, the only one he had ever known until he woke up several weeks ago in a stranger’s life, the feelings he harbored about other boys were still tainted by layers and layers of guilt and shame, painted on again and again by his parents, his church, the hundreds of hours clocked in therapy. Why couldn’t his brain have chosen to forget _that_ particular memory? Instead, it seemed to have only erased the years of Connor’s life that, from his understanding, were probably the happiest ones he ever experienced. And now it was like he hadn’t lived them at all. 

But he _knew_ he had, because there were living, breathing monuments from the forgotten era of his life all around him like a haunted museum; the most significant of which was currently stationed outside the bathroom door, all loyal and concerned and probably listening for the sound of another fall so he could swoop in and save him. Again. 

Connor hated feeling like he needed to be saved, but even in his state, he could appreciate all that Kevin had done and was doing for him. The shower had left him with a confusing dichotomy of feelings, crashing into each other and getting all tangled up inside him. There was the shame, of course, the feeling that he was doing something so bad and sinful and terrible being that close to another man, _his_ man, in that kind of intimate way. And there was the ever-frustrating helplessness that made him resent needing _anyone’s_ arms to help hold him up. But there were other things, too, and the other things he had a harder time putting words to. Which only made it all the more frustrating. 

He closed his eyes to the memory of standing under the water, of his own thin, freckled fingers digging into the warm flesh of Kevin’s shoulders; tanner than his own, but still fading to a paler white below the dip of his collar. Everything about Kevin had felt so… solid. He remembered the way his arms felt around his waist as he leaned back against him, so careful to avoid anywhere that might hurt or brush too close to anywhere Connor didn’t want to be touched. 

Even now, he could still feel the whisper of breath against his cheek, unintentional but unignorable, as Kevin spoke soothing words to him beneath the spray; a dizzying contrast of softness and strength that Kevin seemed to exude at every turn. 

Somewhere inside of him, the Connor from before, the boy who had only dreamed of being touched, of being held and holding someone else like that, was positively soaring. But he was scared, too. Scared of how it felt to be near to someone like that. 

How it felt to be near _Kevin._

That, in particular, was something Connor had been trying to pin down from the beginning, and something he was gracelessly failing at each turn. It felt a lot like following the point on a compass that only existed inside of himself; one that he couldn’t _see_ but he could _feel_ sometimes nudging him in the direction of the man he’d seen photographed beside him in a scrapbook from a lifetime that didn’t exist in his mind. The Connor he remembered being had never really been in love before, not for real, so he couldn’t know exactly what that looked like. But he had a feeling he was getting a glimpse of it every time he witnessed the way Kevin Price looked after him. It was dizzying and confusing, terrifying and exhausting all at once.

Kevin was beautiful in a way that had Connor's gaze lingering every time he relaxed enough to let it, had him blushing as their bodies pressed against each other under a warm spray of water. He was kind and good, seemingly without end. Kevin was safe for him, again and again and again, and... maybe that was all it was. 

Maybe it was just that Connor was finally starting to build a new foundation of familiarity with him. That certainly wouldn’t be a bad thing. In fact, it would be a step in the right direction, he supposed, toward becoming the person that everyone around him expected him to be. He wanted that: to stop disappointing the closest thing to a family he had left. And they would deny it, he was sure, but Connor wasn’t blind. He saw the small fizzles of light that faded out in Kevin’s eyes, in Chris’s and James’s and Naba’s, whenever he came so close to something like a memory, a breakthrough, only to have it slip through his fingers before the image could fully form. But Kevin’s were the most painful of all. 

Bracing himself for another wave of exhaustion, Connor crouched down to retrieve his underwear from the floor, wringing out the excess water into the sink before draping the cloth over the faucet. He allowed himself to glance up into the mirror, wiping a strip of condensation away with his palm to get a peek at the person in the reflection he was slowly coming to terms with seeing. His hair was less unruly when it was wet, clinging to his skin in clumps instead of curling up in every direction, beads of moisture falling off the ends to trail down his face and onto his neck. His face was a little thinner, too, deprived of all the lingering baby fat that had stuck around in the latest memories before things got foggy. But mostly, he looked tired. 

He sighed and turned away from the mirror, clutching at his towel and taking a deep breath as he laid a hand on the doorknob. 

Kevin was already in his pajamas when Connor walked out, tending to the bed, peeling down the comforter and fluffing the array of pillows along the headboard with such focus that he didn’t notice Connor’s entrance until he was standing at the foot of the bed. 

He looked up, startled. “Oh. Hey.”

Connor cleared his throat, knuckles tightening and untightening around the towel at his waist. “Hi,” he said back. “I um, I left my… my underwear on the sink?” He phrased it as more of a question, grateful that the heat from the shower would disguise any redness that crept into his cheeks. 

“Yeah, that’s totally fine,” Kevin said. “That’s perfect, I can throw them in with the laundry tomorrow. I need to do a couple loads, anyway.”

“Okay, cool.”

Kevin went back to work, busying his hands with more pillow arrangement, and Connor stood still in the middle of the room, feeling somehow more exposed in his towel than he had inside the actual shower. His gaze rolled over the room, looking between the dressers and the wire bins filled with linens and what he assumed was a closet door, hoping for some small pebble of memory to latch onto. But there was nothing. 

After a long moment of silence, Kevin seemed to realize he was still standing there. “What-- oh!” He shot upright, facing him. “Right, you don’t know where… Your pajamas are over here.” He stepped around the bed, past Connor, to a blackish-brown dresser and pulled open the second drawer from the top. He stepped back, allowing Connor access and apologizing once more for good measure. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about the little things like that.”

Connor smiled at him as he crossed to the dresser. “It’s alright.”

“I’ll try to be better about it. There’s just… so much,” Kevin said, running a hand through his hair with an anxious laugh. 

_You’re_ so much, is what Connor heard and promptly tried to push away. 

“Really, don’t worry about it,” he said again, looking away from Kevin’s hands as they worried at each other at his waist. It was hard to ignore the dull pinch of guilt that arose whenever he saw Kevin tripping over himself to help him, and still, usually, having the audacity to apologize for it. 

“Okay,” Kevin conceded after a moment, stepping quietly back to the bed to resume his pillow arrangement. “Just… let me know, okay? If there’s anything you need, or… or want, or don’t know where it is... you can ask me whenever.”

“Got it.” Connor smiled once more and then diverted his attention to the drawer. 

Staring back at him was an array of neatly folded pajamas, separated into shirts on the left and bottoms on the right. For a moment, he almost felt relieved. Each shirt was tightly folded and arranged by color, stacked horizontally so that he could see all his options at a glance: a routine he had been doing for as long as his mother had made him start putting his own laundry away as a young teenager. Seeing it here and now was like finally, _finally_ feeling some spark of connection to the person whose body he had woken up in. Just a sliver of hope that the real him was in here, somewhere, after all, and maybe he wasn’t lost forever.

The small victory was dampened by his next realization, which was that he didn’t recognize a single article of clothing in the drawer. 

Tentatively, and feeling a bit like he was intruding on something that didn’t belong to him, he grazed his fingers over the rows of soft cotten, willing his mind to latch onto one of them, to recognize it as something that was his. When it didn’t come, he simply settled on the black t-shirt closest to the front, grabbing a matching pair of flannel pants to go along with it. 

When he turned around to tell Kevin he was going to change in the bathroom, his heart lurched up into his throat. 

Kevin was sitting on the edge of the bed - _his side,_ Connor presumed - one leg hanging off the side as he fiddled with the clasp of his wristwatch, then set it down on the nightstand. He was settling in. 

He looked up when he sensed Connor staring. “Everything okay?”

Connor cleared his throat, shaking his head as he looked briefly away. “Yeah, I- I’m okay. I just...” _Feel like my heart is going to explode from anxiety if I have to share a bed with you tonight? Still feel a residual stickiness over my guilt from the shower? Can’t pin down my complicated feelings about the idea of being so close to you? Am the worst boyfriend in the world?_ He swallowed. “Would it be okay if maybe I slept on the couch tonight?”

No amount of effort from Kevin could have masked the flash of hurt in his eyes, though he certainly made quick work of trying. “Did I... do something wrong?”

Yes, there was no question about it, Connor was the worst boyfriend in the world. 

“No,” he assured him through another thick swallow. “No, I’m sorry, I’m... I’m just not used to sleeping next to anyone, and I’m in a new place, at least for me, and…” He stopped short, his brows drawing downward in frustration at his inability to convey any of his feelings with an ounce of coherency. And perhaps it was because he, himself, had so little grasp on whatever it was he was feeling. “I sound stupid.”

“No!” Kevin retorted immediately, palms up as he swung his other leg over the side of the mattress and stood up. “No, it’s not stupid. Not at all, sweetheart. Don’t apologize, please. Really, I should have thought of that myself. But don’t be ridiculous, I’ll take the couch.”

Connor winced. “I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”

“Our bed.” The words seemed to have escaped Kevin before he could stop them, judging by the way he pulled his eyes apologetically away immediately after. 

“Right,” Connor whispered.

After a beat of silence, Kevin drew in a deep breath. “Look, the doctor said the best thing for you right now is to get some good rest. So you’re taking the bed. I won’t hear any arguments.” His voice was firm, but there was a tiny smile pulling at his lips as he said it, even if it looked a little bit forced. 

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Kevin breathed out a sigh and then collected his watch from the nightstand and a pillow from his side of the bed before making his way to the wire bin by the mirror to select a blanket off the top. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Unless you need help getting into those…?” He nodded meaningfully down at the pajamas clutched in Connor’s free hand. 

Connor’s ears burned red at the thought of Kevin seeing him in an even more compromising position tonight. “No, thank you.”

“Got it.” Kevin smiled at him once more over his shoulder before he left the room. “Don’t hesitate to come wake me if you need anything at all, okay?”

“Okay,” Connor promised, knowing full well he probably would not be doing that. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, I…” Kevin stopped abruptly, then forced his smile back into place as he tapped the doorframe. “Goodnight, Connor. I’m really glad you’re home.”

* * *

He had forgotten to close the drapes the night before, a reality that smacked him in the face with the first beam of sunlight that streamed into the living room. Kevin groaned and rolled onto his back. There was no adjustment time needed to remember where he was, because the tell-tale back ache that came with sleeping on the couch was something he had become quite familiar with when Connor was still in the hospital and he couldn’t bring himself to face their empty bed alone. 

Kevin arched his back, stretching his arms up over his head and pointing his feet, light pops and cracks rippling down his body. From his position on the couch, he could see that the light was still off in the bedroom through the crack in the door, and he hoped that would mean Connor was still asleep. He certainly hoped Connor had gotten more rest than he had. 

Memories from the night before had rendered him sleepless and buzzing with anxious energy most of the night as he tossed and turned and stared up at the water spot on the ceiling he had been meaning to get patched for at least half of their lease term. He had been dreaming about Connor’s first night home for months, and somehow none of his fantastical projections had included holding his debilitated body up in a slippery shower or being exiled from their bed to sleep an excruciating twenty feet away from each other.

Not that he held either of those things against him. On the contrary, the former had been something of a blessing in a way, as it afforded Kevin the opportunity to feel like he was actually _doing something_ for once, instead of standing around and feeling useless. As for the sleeping arrangements, he could hardly blame Connor for feeling overwhelmed by the idea of sharing a bed so soon. As difficult as it was, Kevin needed to flip every new scenario on its head to try and see it from Connor’s point of view and imagine what it must feel like going in blind. In theory, this kind of logic was supposed to help ease the pain of situations like the one he’d found himself in last night, sleeping alone. In practice… well, that was another story. 

With an angry protest from his spine, Kevin pushed himself to a sitting position, letting his feet find the carpet. The grogginess was only that much more prominent with the effort of holding himself up right, and he could practically hear the coffee maker calling his name. Chasing that instinct, he stood, stretching up one more time on his toes, and padded around the corner into the small kitchen. 

He made it as far as filling up the canister and flipping on the heat switch when a buzz from his phone pulled his attention to the opposite end of the counter. A text from his mom. 

_**Hi honey. Call me soon. Want to see how you’re doing.** _

Before he even finished reading the first message, the phone buzzed in his hand with a follow up:

_**Connor, too.** _

Kevin swallowed hard, trying to ward off the sudden sting behind his eyes. 

He may have grossly undersold the situation, in general, to his mother. She knew that there had been an incident, and that they had both been in the hospital, though he had assured her that his own stay was brief. She also knew about Connor’s coma and the subsequent loss of memory, but Kevin had been, admittedly, a bit more distant than usual since everything happened. 

They weren’t super close anymore, Kevin and his mom. Not the way they used to be when Kevin was growing up, anyhow. But they had made significant progress from where they started when Kevin came back from his mission three years ago with a boyfriend, an impending excommunication, and freshly deep-rooted trauma in tow. Things were far from perfect, but she made an effort to understand him and to keep him in her life, even if it meant challenging some of her long held beliefs, which was more than he could say for his father and most everyone else in their family except his siblings. 

Still, he had withheld most of the gritty details of the incident. Mostly, he hadn’t wanted to worry her. They were fine now, physically, and everything else Kevin could handle on his own. 

There was also a part of him that didn’t want to validate any of her fears about the dangers of her son going out into the world as a less-than-straight man. They didn’t really have any way of knowing if their attack had been targeted based on their sexuality, since Connor was the one who had endured most of it and his account of the events was probably lost forever now. It seemed unlikely that would be the case, in New York City of all places, but neither of their wallets or phones had been taken to suggest a robbery, and in the last of Kevin’s conscious memories before things went dark, he could vaguely remember hearing a couple of choice words tossed their way. 

Somehow, he didn’t feel particularly inclined to divulge any of that to his mother. 

He glanced over his shoulder at the bedroom door, listening briefly for any sounds of stirring. When he heard none and saw the light still off, he cleared his throat and pulled up his mother’s contact on his phone, hitting send. Her voice poked through the static after just one ring.

“That was fast.” Kevin could hear the soft smile in her greeting, and he smiled back in spite of himself. 

“Morning, mom.”

“Good morning, Kevin.” In the background, he could make out a light scraping sound, like plastic on plastic. His mind supplied the image of the whisk in a pink bowl of battered eggs easily, recalling the routine he’d seen his mother perform a thousand times over a thousand breakfasts throughout the years. He could almost see her now, white-spotted apron tied around her waist, her head tilted just enough to hold the phone between her ear and her shoulder in the perfectly natural way that only mothers could do. He imagined she was in the kitchen alone, awake before Jack and Kayla and his father, as usual. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner.” Kevin scratched the back of his neck, eyes shifting to the coffee maker as the liquid started to drip into the pot. “Things have been… you know.”

“He’s home now, yeah?” She asked after a beat. Kevin glanced to the bedroom door again on instinct. 

“Yeah. Last night was the first night back.”

“I bet that feels like a relief.”

Kevin shifted his hip against the counter, resting his weight there. He scrubbed a palm over his tired eyes. “Yeah, it is.”

“How is he doing?”

Once again, Kevin found himself fighting back tears. Of all the little ways his mom showed she cared, her conscious effort to show inclusion toward Connor never failed to tug at his heart. There had been a time, toward the beginning, when things had been a bit more precarious. She was skeptical of Connor in a way that Kevin knew went at least a little beyond the expected amount from a mother to a son’s significant other. But Connor was _Connor,_ and despite whatever religious hangups anyone had about his gender and sexuality, he was the kind of person it was impossible to hate once you got to know him even a little. Kevin couldn’t deny that Connor’s rocky circumstances at the time probably played a part in softening his mother’s heart toward him, also. For all of her faults, Mrs. Price was a mother, through and through, and watching someone so young, so close to her own childrens’ ages, be treated that way had affected her in ways she didn’t need to admit out loud.

He never told anyone this, but Kevin would never forget the day he came home from the store during the several week period that Connor had lived with them after his parents kicked him out. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he had just finished unloading groceries and was headed to his room when he saw the bathroom door cracked, just enough to see a sliver of the mirror above the vanity, and in the reflection, Connor and his mother. She was cleaning the cut on his lip, the one that kept splitting open again and again even as the rest of the marks on his face started to fade with time. 

Kevin had stood stock still in the hallway, listening to his mother tell Connor that he had to stop biting his lip when he got nervous or else it was never going to heal properly. And while it might have been something of a chastising moment, he couldn’t help but think that it sounded exactly like how she would have spoken to Jack or Kevin or Kayla about the same thing; a warning laced with motherly concern. She had given Connor some kind of fancy lip balm from her cosmetic bag and told him to keep using it, and Kevin had scurried quietly off to his room without being caught, and he had thought about that interaction every day since. 

“Physically, he’s doing a little better,” he answered her. “Still sort of weak, a little unsteady. But that’s to be expected after all that time down.”

“And mentally?” She asked, carefully, seeming to already have an idea of what the answer would be. 

Kevin nodded, slightly, even though she couldn’t see him through the phone. “He’s, um… you know, it’s tough.”

She was quiet for a moment, and Kevin heard the whisking in the background come to a halt, giving way to a heavy silence. “How are _you_ doing?”

“I’m fine,” he said instantly, and he could practically _feel_ his mother’s look of disapproval from thousands of miles away, and wilted almost immediately. “Okay, maybe not exactly fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Kevin sighed, pushing off the counter to grab his favorite mug from the hanger on the wall and pour the fresh coffee into it. “I don’t know what there is to say, honestly. It is what it is.” He placed the pot back on the heater and brought the first sip to his lips, cringing away from the heat. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy, any of it, but I thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe it would at least feel different once he was home.”

“It doesn’t?” He heard a light sizzle in the background and knew her eggs had made it into the pan. 

“Not in a way that changes anything.” He shrugged. “It almost hurts worse, just seeing him walk around the apartment we’ve both called home for so long and not recognize anything. It’s hard. On both of us, I think, but I’m trying to focus on him more than me.”

“You have to focus on yourself, too, Kevin.” There was that motherly warning again. “You can’t take care of someone else if you’re not first taken care of.”

“I know,” he mumbled, though he mostly still felt defeated. 

They lapsed into another silence and he allowed himself to just close his eyes and listen to the familiar sounds of breakfast being prepared in his childhood kitchen until she spoke up again. 

“You were pretty young when you’re grandma Sandra was sick,” she said, surprising him with the abrupt subject change. “You probably don’t remember much, and what you do remember, you might have been too little to fully understand. She started to forget things a lot in her last few years. It was hard on all of us. But especially your father.”

Kevin opened his eyes. He did remember, vaguely, the trips his family would take to the nursing home every Sunday to visit Grandma Sandy. It was mostly a blur, as he couldn’t have been older than seven or eight, but he did recall a couple things with pretty decent clarity: the smell of peppermint tea from his grandmother’s bedside table, and the way his father was always terribly sad for the rest of the day after each visit.

“There were some days when she didn’t recognize your father at all, or any of you kids, and it was devastating,” his mother continued. “And there were days when the not remembering would send her into some pretty angry fits.” There was a familiar plunge of anxiety in Kevin’s chest as he recalled the doctor’s warning about Connor’s potential for rapid mood swings. While he hadn’t seen too much of that in the recent days, he was conscious of the possibility that they could arise at any time, and the pressure to respond the right way, if there was such a thing. “But there were good days, too. Great days, even.”

“Is that my only hope, is to just… wait around for the few rare good days to come?” He tried to keep all hints of bitterness out of his voice, and if she noticed any that slipped through the cracks, she didn’t say anything about it. 

“I know it’s not exactly the same situation,” she said gently, “but I’m saying maybe the best you can do right now is make as many good days for yourselves as possible.”

“I don’t know how,” Kevin said, too tired to even try and keep the hint of a desperate whine out of his voice. “I feel like everything I do is the wrong thing.”

“I don’t think there’s any one right thing to do here, Kev. But I think there are little good things that could add up over time.”

“Like what?”

His mother paused. “Well, I remember one thing your dad used to do when your grandmother was having a bad week was make sure to prepare one of her favorite foods from her old recipe book before we came to visit. Even on the tough days, a bowl of her famous macaroni-bean soup and peppermint tea never failed to put a smile on her face, even if just for a little while.”

“I think we’ve surpassed the limitations of the healing powers of soup over here, mom.” Kevin tried to force a smile into his voice, but even he could hear that it fell flat. 

“I know, honey,” she said with genuine sympathy, enough to make his heart squeeze and wish she was here to offer a hug in person. “But maybe reminding him of some of his own favorite things might be enough to make him smile, too. It can’t hurt, right?”

Kevin swallowed. “Right. Thanks, mom.”

 _“Who’s that?”_ Kevin heard a familiar high pitched voice chime in from the background. He smiled. Kayla must have come downstairs. She was always an early riser.

“It’s your brother, sweetheart. Say hi.”

 _“Hi Kevin!”_ His sister’s voice was louder that time as his mother held the phone out and Kevin chuckled, another squeeze of painful affection in his chest. 

“Hi, squirt. Good to hear you.”

“Well,” his mother sighed. “I guess I should let you go so I can start feeding the troops. I’m glad you called, Kevin.”

“Yeah. Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. I love you.” 

Kevin sniffed. “You too, mom.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and he thought maybe she had been the first to hang up, but then she spoke again, quieter this time, almost a whisper.

“Send Connor my love.”

Kevin didn’t bother fighting the tears that time.

* * *

“Thank you.” Kevin slid a ten dollar bill across the counter and grabbed the black plastic bag and the cup in exchange. 

The bell over the glass door chimed as he pushed it open with his shoulder, stepping out onto the sidewalk. He could already smell the familiar scent wafting up from the bag-- egg and cheese quesadilla with avocado, salsa on the side. Connor’s signature breakfast from their favorite bodega on the corner. Something simple and familiar, like his mother had advised. 

In his other hand was an iced maple latte in the largest size they offered. He had roasted Connor so many times for the obscene amount of sugar that, in Kevin’s very important opinion, nearly disqualified it from being coffee at all. Connor never cared, of course, and would always take a big, showy gulp before telling Kevin that not everyone had the taste buds of a sewer rat and some people actually liked to enjoy the taste of the things they consume, thank you very much. 

He had left a note on the counter in case Connor woke up before he got back, but thankfully the walk from the bodega to their apartment took all of sixty seconds. He buzzed into the front door and was already halfway up the first set of stairs when a voice from the bottom stopped him. Kevin looked back to see the mailman holding the door open with his shoe, his messenger bag strung over his shoulder. 

“Hey kid, do you know who lives in 3R?”

Kevin blinked, turning around to face him fully. “That would be me. Why?”

“The mailbox is so full I can hardly fit anything else.”

“Shit.” Kevin blew out a long breath. It had been a while since he checked the mail, hadn’t it? “I’m sorry, it’s just been… sorry. It’s been a rough couple of months.”

The man shrugged, holding out a large stack of mail in his hand. “Here’s today’s stuff. Just clear it out before tomorrow, yeah?”

Kevin bounded down the stairs to retrieve it from him with a nod. “I will,” he promised. “Thank you. Sorry, again.”

It was a balancing act trying to carry everything up at once, but with the mail tucked under his arm and the bag around his wrist, he managed to make it up three flights and unlock the door without spilling a drop of coffee. 

He started at the sight of Connor standing in the doorway of the bedroom when he stepped into the apartment. 

“Shoot. Sorry, Con. I hoped I would get back before you woke up. I left you a note.”

Connor was a sight to behold in his warm, soft pajamas, his eyes puffy from sleep and hair strewn every which direction from being slept on wet. It was a sight Kevin had woken up to every day for years, one he hadn’t seen now in far too long, and one he would never get tired of seeing every morning for as long as he lived. He was adorable and beautiful in a way that couldn’t possibly be legal and _definitely_ wasn't fair. Kevin swallowed back any urge to tell him as much, or better yet, to scoop him into a hug and tackle him onto the bed and kiss him until--

Okay. Breakfast. Focus. 

“It’s alright,” Connor said through a yawn, his arms wound tightly over his middle. “I just got up.” His eyes dropped to the items in Kevin’s hands. “What’s that?”

“It’s for you.” Kevin made his way over to the small, round table against the kitchen window, setting the food down and laying the stack of mail off to the side on the countertop. “I thought I’d go out and grab some of your old favorites for breakfast to celebrate your first day home.”

Tentatively, Connor shuffled over to the table, pulling out the chair closest to him on the opposite side. Kevin grabbed his own abandoned, half-cooled mug of coffee from the counter and joined him. 

“Thank you,” Connor said. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“Don’t be silly. I wanted to.” Kevin opened the bag, taking out the foil-wrapped quesadilla and sliding it over to Connor and claiming the toasted everything bagel with butter for himself. 

He watched Connor pick apart the foil with his long, thin fingers, tearing off a slice of the quesadilla and bringing it up to his nose to sniff it. Kevin hid a smile behind his clasped hands. 

Connor looked up at the tiny breath of laughter. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Kevin smiled wider behind his hands. “Sorry, I won’t stare.”

It wasn’t all the way a lie, but he did manage to sneak in a few glances as he dug into his own breakfast, gauging Connor’s expression for any indication of his opinion as he took his first bite. With great restraint, he managed to wait until he swallowed to ask, “Do you like it?”

Connor seemed to deliberate the question for a moment before slowly bringing it back to his lips for a second bite. He chewed as he nodded. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Kevin could have fucking melted right off of his chair and into a pile at Connor’s feet. Instead, he worked to contain the giddy smile that surely would have made him look like a madman at the simple praise, concealing it with a large bite of bagel. 

“Oh,” Kevin said when he noticed the latte had remained untouched, sliding it closer to Connor. “This is for you, too. Iced maple latte with almond milk from the corner cafe, just like always.”

Connor laid down the triangle of quesadilla he was holding, turning the cup with his fingers. He studied it for a moment before shooting Kevin a smile he couldn’t help but interpret as forced. “Thanks.”

Kevin frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Connor shook his head instantly, looking up when Kevin didn’t respond right away. He swallowed, eyeing the drink again. “Is there, um… caffeine in this?”

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it’s espresso, Con. Why does that…? Oh.”

The two of them sat in silence, both eyeing the offending drink between them as if Kevin had brought a curse into the house. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t even thought about this possibility, but in hindsight it made perfect sense. Most of Connor’s remaining recent memories came from his late teenage years, when he was very much still living under LDS rulings, and that undoubtedly included the ban on coffee. He knew, from what his mother had told him, that Connor used to sneak it sometimes as a teenager, but Kevin could understand where the hesitancy might be coming from. And Connor drank the pumpkin spice lattes Kevin had brought him at the hospital, but probably only because Kevin made them decaf on the doctor’s orders. 

He didn’t want to think about what other lingering Mormon guilt might remain, specifically the kind that might have a direct impact on his relationship to Kevin. He really hadn’t there was any way for this situation to get any stickier or scarier to navigate, but he may have just stumbled upon one.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said after a moment. “I didn’t think about that.”

Connor shook his head again. “It’s alright.”

“It’s just, you haven’t exactly stuck to all those rules in quite a while,” he said, then quickly added, “Neither of us have.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just... weird, I guess. For me to catch up to all of it.”

“Hey, don’t apologize.” Kevin went to reach across the table and grab his hand, then thought better of it. “Look, there’s no rush to catch up on anything. You just do whatever makes you comfortable, okay? You don’t have to drink it. There’s no hard feelings.”

“Okay.” Connor took another slow bite of his food. Kevin supposed he could be grateful that, at least, he liked that part of the meal. He swallowed, then nudged the cup a little bit toward Kevin. “You can drink some, if you want. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Kevin snorted, a sound that seemed to surprise Connor. “Me? Drink that garbage? Dream on, McKinley.”

Connor seemed to be thrown off guard by the response, but mercifully, his mouth quirked up into the hint of a smile to match Kevin’s, and Kevin could almost make himself believe it was just like old times. 

“By the way,” Kevin spoke around a mouthful of bagel, “I start working back at my old store tomorrow, since you’re out of the hospital. It will be mostly morning shifts since I’m an assistant manager now, but the doctor doesn’t want you to be on your own too much right now while you’re recovering, so I’m sure Chris or Naba or someone would be happy to come over and hang out with you for a while.”

He didn’t miss the way something in Connor’s expression changed before he hurried to mask it. He swallowed the last bit of his quesadilla and squashed the foil into a little ball between his palms. Kevin held out his hand and collected their trash, bringing it over to dump in the bin. 

“Do you think maybe we could see if Steve is free instead?”

Kevin was suddenly very glad he was turned away when he asked the question, because he wasn’t sure he would have been able to mask the drop in his expression. But he tried anyway, clearing his throat before turning around with his best attempt at a smile. 

“Of course we can. Whatever you want, Con.”

Connor dismissed himself to go get dressed shortly after, insisting he could find his way around the dresser when Kevin offered to help, leaving him alone in the kitchen. When the bedroom door shut, Kevin looked down at the still-full coffee, a gross, watery layer at the top where the ice had mostly melted and a pile of condensation making a ring on the wooden table. Kevin sighed and picked it up, squinting his eyes at it before hesitantly bringing the straw to his mouth and taking a sip. He swallowed with a gag, his face contorting at the overpowering sickly-sweet taste. 

“Absolutely not,” he said to no one, carrying the cup to the sink. 

He ran the faucet and watched the milky liquid swirl down the drain, then tossed the cup into the recycling bin under the sink. 

That was when he saw it. 

At the top of the pile of mail he had lazily strewn across the countertop, there was an envelope emblazoned with a logo he recognized immediately, and he could practically feel the uptick of his heartbeat. 

He crossed the kitchen in two easy strides and picked up the envelope, running his thumb over the print as if trying to prove to himself that he wasn’t imagining its existence. 

The O’Neill Young Author’s Fellowship was one of the most prestigious writing programs in upstate New York, and something Kevin had dreamed about since he was a teenager. With all the chaos of the last few months, he had forgotten completely that he even applied. It had been mostly Connor that forced his hand in the first place nearly half a year ago, when Kevin was so completely sure there was no use in applying when there was no way he could ever get in. Connor had disagreed, vehemently, of course. He had always had far more faith in Kevin’s ability as a writer than Kevin ever had for himself. It was no secret Kevin hated his job, and even more so that he hated the feeling of being trapped at a dead-end coffee shop job when they were supposed to be in the city making their dreams come true. Nobody wanted that for Kevin more than Connor. 

But things had changed. _Everything_ had changed. No matter what the contents of the letter in his hands held, Kevin couldn’t fathom leaving Connor behind for several months right now. Not while he was still like this. Not while there were hospital bills looming overhead and they were living on a single income and Connor still needed Kevin’s help with even the smallest things as he found his footing in this strange new world. It would be selfish, first and foremost, and that particular dream felt so insignificant in comparison to everything else life had thrown at him. 

So why did the letter feel like fire under his fingertips? Why did the logo still ignite a spark of excitement in his chest? Why was he suddenly so scared to open it?

He slipped his thumb beneath a loose flap of the envelope, then paused, glancing back at the bedroom door. On the other side, he could hear the gentle movement of Connor getting dressed, and suddenly the idea of opening the letter at all somehow felt like a betrayal of its own. But Kevin knew himself, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to let it go unless he could just _know_ one way or another. Maybe it would only hurt him more, to know what life could have looked like in a different timeline; one where everything hadn’t unravelled in the blink of an eye on one fateful, terrible night. 

But he needed to know.

Not allowing himself another moment to hesitate, he ripped back the fold of the envelope with his finger and pulled out the paper, folded in thirds. His hands were shaking slightly as he flattened it out, his eyes scanning the blocks of text until he saw it. 

_We are pleased to inform you that you are among the few selected for this year’s class of O’Neill Young Authors, and we look forward to having you here in beautiful New Paltz, New York for the duration of the fellowship._

The letter carried on after that, probably explaining details and logistics about the next steps to accepting the offer, but Kevin couldn’t see them because his vision was suddenly swimming. All he could do was stare at that one, single sentence, reading it and rereading it as much as he could with the paper trembling like a leaf between his fingers. 

He got in. 

_He got in._

There was a brief swell of the excitement, the elation he should have been allowed to feel in another lifetime, before the wave of reality crashed over it, smothering any stray flame of hope that may have worked its way up. 

He got in, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind words again on the last chapter. You have no idea how much each comment means to me, and you continue to blow me away with the love you show for this story.


End file.
